John Donne (1572–1631). The Poems of John Donne. 1896.
Songs and SonnetsThe Bait
C
And we will some new pleasures prove
Of golden sands, and crystal brooks,
With silken lines and silver hooks.
Warm’d by thy eyes, more than the sun;
And there th’ enamour’d fish will stay,
Begging themselves they may betray.
Each fish, which every channel hath,
Will amorously to thee swim,
Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.
By sun or moon, thou dark’nest both,
And if myself have leave to see,
I need not their light, having thee.
And cut their legs with shells and weeds,
Or treacherously poor fish beset,
With strangling snare, or windowy net.
The bedded fish in banks out-wrest;
Or curious traitors, sleeve-silk flies,
Bewitch poor fishes’ wand’ring eyes.
For thou thyself art thine own bait:
That fish, that is not catch’d thereby,
Alas! is wiser far than I.