Computation, The

John Donne

                For the first twenty years since yesterday
                  I scarce believed thou couldst be gone away;
            For forty more I fed on favors past,
               And forty on hopes that thou wouldst they might last.
                    Tears drowned one hundred, and sighs blew out two,
               A thousand, I did neither think nor do,
               Or not divide, all being one thought of you,
               Or in a thousand more forgot that too.
          Yet call not this long life, but think that I
               Am, by being dead, immortal. Can ghosts die?

Next 10 Poems

• John Donne : Confined Love
• John Donne : Daybreak
• John Donne : Death Be Not Proud
• John Donne : Ecstasy, The
• John Donne : Elegy I: Jealousy
• John Donne : Elegy Ii: The Anagram
• John Donne : Elegy Iii: Change
• John Donne : Elegy Iv: The Perfume
• John Donne : Elegy Ix: The Autumnal
• John Donne : Elegy V: His Picture

Previous 10 Poems

• John Donne : Celestial Music
• John Donne : Cannonization, The
• John Donne : Break Of Day
• John Donne : Bait, The
• John Donne : Apparition, The
• John Donne : An Anatomy Of The World...
• John Donne : Aire And Angles
• John Donne : Air And Angels
• John Donne : A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning
• John Donne : A Valediction Of Weeping