Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
More quotes by John Donne
Batter my heart, three-personed God; for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend.
Fill'd with her love, may I be rather grown
Mad with much heart, than idiot with none.
To rage, to lust, to write to, to commend,
All is the purlieu of the god of love.
Nature’s great masterpiece, an elephant,
The only harmless great thing.
Hail Bishop Valentine, whose day this is;
All the air is thy diocese.
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.