| John Donne (1572–1631). The Poems of John Donne. 1896. | | | | Songs and Sonnets | | Twickenham Garden |
| | | BLASTED with sighs, and surrounded with tears, | |
| Hither I come to seek the spring, | |
| And at mine eyes, and at mine ears, | |
| Receive such balms as else cure 1 every thing. | |
| But O! self-traitor, I do bring | 5 |
| The spider Love, 2 which transubstantiates all, | |
| And can convert manna to gall; | |
| And that this place may thoroughly be thought | |
| True paradise, I have the serpent brought. | |
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| ’Twere wholesomer for me that winter did | 10 |
| Benight the glory of this place, | |
| And that a grave frost did forbid | |
| These trees to laugh and mock me to my face; | |
| But that I may not 3 this disgrace | |
| Endure, nor yet leave loving, 4 Love, let me | 15 |
| Some senseless piece of this place be; | |
| Make me a mandrake, so I may grow here, | |
| Or a stone fountain weeping out my year. 5 | |
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| Hither with crystal phials, lovers, come, | |
| And take my tears, which are love’s wine, | 20 |
| And try your mistress’ tears at home, | |
| For all are false, that taste not just like mine. | |
| Alas! hearts do not in eyes shine, | |
| Nor can you more judge women’s thoughts by tears, | |
| Than by her shadow what she wears. | 25 |
| O perverse sex, where none is true but she, | |
| Who’s therefore true, because her truth kills me. | |
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