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Who ever comes to shroud me, do not harm
Nor question much
That subtle wreath of hair, which crowns my arm;
The mystery, the sign you must not touch,
For 'tis my outward soul,
Viceroy to that, which then to heaven being gone,
Will leave this to control,
And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution.

— John Donne Poems (1633)

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More quotes by John Donne

Batter my heart, three-personed God; for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend.

Poems (1633)

Fill'd with her love, may I be rather grown
Mad with much heart, than idiot with none.

Poems (1633)

To rage, to lust, to write to, to commend,
All is the purlieu of the god of love.

Poems (1633)

Nature’s great masterpiece, an elephant,
The only harmless great thing.

The Progress of the Soul (1601)

Hail Bishop Valentine, whose day this is;
All the air is thy diocese.

All John Donne quotes →

Attribution

Quote text and notes from Wikiquote: John Donne (page history), available under CC BY-SA 4.0. Source quality and labels are our own summary of what Wikiquote records.