The Dissolution

John Donne

1572 to 1631

Poem Image
Track 1

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Every 10th word

Shee'is dead; And all which die
To their first resolve;
And wee were mutuall Elements to us,
And of one another.
My body then doth hers involve, 
And those things whereof I consist, hereby
In me grow, and burdenous,
And nourish not, but smother.
My of Passion, sighes of ayre,
Water of teares, and sad despaire, 
Which my materialls bee,
But neere out by loves securitie,
Shee, to my losse, doth her death repaire,
And I might live long wretched
But that my fire doth with my fuell grow. 
Now as those Active Kings
Whose foraine conquest treasure brings,
Receive more, and spend more, and soonest breake:
This (which I am amaz'd that I can speake)
This death, with my store 
My use encreas'd.
And so soule more earnestly releas'd,
Will outstrip hers; As bullets before
A latter bullet may o'rtake, the pouder being more.