1Here take my picture; though I bid farewell
2Thine, in my heart, where my soul dwells, shall dwell.
3'Tis like me now, but I dead, 'twill be more
4When we are shadows both, than 'twas before.
5When weather-beaten I come back, my hand
6Perhaps with rude oars torn, or sun beams tann'd,
7My face and breast of haircloth, and my head
8With care's rash sudden storms being o'erspread,
9My body'a sack of bones, broken within,
10And powder's blue stains scatter'd on my skin;
11If rival fools tax thee to'have lov'd a man
12So foul and coarse as, oh, I may seem then,
13This shall say what I was, and thou shalt say,
14"Do his hurts reach me? doth my worth decay?
15Or do they reach his judging mind, that he
16Should now love less, what he did love to see?
17That which in him was fair and delicate,
18Was but the milk which in love's childish state
19Did nurse it; who now is grown strong enough
20To feed on that, which to disus'd tastes seems tough."
1Here take my picture; though I bid farewell
2Thine, in my heart, where my soul dwells, shall dwell.
3'Tis like me now, but I dead, 'twill be more
4When we are shadows both, than 'twas before.
5When weather-beaten I come back, my hand
6Perhaps with rude oars torn, or sun beams tann'd,
7My face and breast of haircloth, and my head
8With care's rash sudden storms being o'erspread,
9My body'a sack of bones, broken within,
10And powder's blue stains scatter'd on my skin;
11If rival fools tax thee to'have lov'd a man
12So foul and coarse as, oh, I may seem then,
13This shall say what I was, and thou shalt say,
14"Do his hurts reach me? doth my worth decay?
15Or do they reach his judging mind, that he
16Should now love less, what he did love to see?
17That which in him was fair and delicate,
18Was but the milk which in love's childish state
19Did nurse it; who now is grown strong enough
20To feed on that, which to disus'd tastes seems tough."
Here take my picture; though I bid farewell
Thine, in my heart, where my soul dwells, shall dwell.
'Tis like me now, but I dead, 'twill be more
When we are shadows both, than 'twas before.
When weather-beaten I come back, my hand
Perhaps with rude oars torn, or sun beams tann'd,
My face and breast of haircloth, and my head
With care's rash sudden storms being o'erspread,
My body'a sack of bones, broken within,
And powder's blue stains scatter'd on my skin;
If rival fools tax thee to'have lov'd a man
So foul and coarse as, oh, I may seem then,
This shall say what I was, and thou shalt say,
"Do his hurts reach me? doth my worth decay?
Or do they reach his judging mind, that he
Should now love less, what he did love to see?
That which in him was fair and delicate,
Was but the milk which in love's childish state
Did nurse it; who now is grown strong enough
To feed on that, which to disus'd tastes seems tough."
Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.
A Brief Biography — Learn about Donne's life and work via the Poetry Foundation.
His Picture — Admire a famous portrait of Donne in which he poses as a melancholy young lover.
Donne's Tomb — Learn more about another famous "picture" that has survived Donne: his strange, eerie funerary statue in St. Paul's Cathedral.
Donne's Legacy — Read a review of a recent Donne biography that discusses his enduring influence.
The Metaphysicals — Learn more about the Metaphysical poets in this article from the British Library.