John Donne (1572–1631). The Poems of John Donne. 1896.
Songs and SonnetsA Fever
O!
All women so, when thou art gone,
That thee I shall not celebrate,
When I remember thou wast one.
To leave this world behind, is death;
But when thou from this world wilt go,
The whole world vapours with thy breath.
It stay, ’tis but thy carcase then;
The fairest woman, but thy ghost,
But corrupt worms, the worthiest men.
Shall burn this world, had none the wit
Unto this knowledge to aspire,
That this her fever might be it?
Nor long bear this torturing wrong,
For more corruption needful is,
To fuel such a fever long.
Whose matter in thee is soon spent;
Thy beauty, and all parts, which are thee,
Are unchangeable firmament.
Though it in thee cannot perséver;
For I had rather owner be
Of thee one hour, than all else ever.