Tuesday, December 21, 2004

John Donne and the Sun

Now as the Sun becomes ever more present to our darkness in this season, I am again drawn to the lines of Donne:
BUSY old fool, unruly Sun,
Why dost thou thus,Through windows, and through curtains, call on us ?
Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run ?
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Late school-boys and sour prentices,
Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,
Call country ants to harvest offices ;Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime, Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

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