Talk about a dirty poem! I just found my new inspiration and its by a poet named John Donne. The poem is titled “Elegy XX: To His Mistress Going to Bed”. Please read this:COME, madam, come, all rest my powers defy ;Until I labour, I in labour lie.The foe ofttimes, having the foe in sight,Is tired with standing, though he never fight.Off with that girdle, like heaven’s zone glittering,But a far fairer world encompassing.Unpin that spangled breast-plate, which you wear,That th’ eyes of busy fools may be stopp’d there.Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chimeTells me from you that now it is bed-time.Off with that happy busk, which I envy,That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.Your gown going off such beauteous state reveals,As when from flowery meads th’ hill’s shadow steals.Off with your wiry coronet, and showThe hairy diadems which on you do grow.Off with your hose and shoes ; then softly treadIn this love’s hallow’d temple, this soft bed.In such white robes heaven’s angels used to beRevealed to men ; thou, angel, bring’st with theeA heaven-like Mahomet’s paradise ; and thoughIll spirits walk in white, we easily knowBy this these angels from an evil sprite ;Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.Licence my roving hands, and let them goBefore, behind, between, above, below.O, my America, my Newfoundland,My kingdom, safest when with one man mann’d,My mine of precious stones, my empery ;How am I blest in thus discovering thee !To enter in these bonds, is to be free ;Then, where my hand is set, my soul shall be.Full nakedness ! All joys are due to thee ;As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must beTo taste whole joys. Gems which you women useAre like Atlanta’s ball cast in men’s views ;That, when a fool’s eye lighteth on a gem,His earthly soul might court that, not them.Like pictures, or like books’ gay coverings madeFor laymen, are all women thus array’d.Themselves are only mystic books, which we—Whom their imputed grace will dignify—Must see reveal’d. Then, since that I may know,As liberally as to thy midwife showThyself ; cast all, yea, this white linen hence ;There is no penance due to innocence :To teach thee, I am naked first ; why then,What needst thou have more covering than a man? Ha great ending! For some reason, I feel like a naughty child that is not supposed to be reading this poem. I think that is what I might write about next time for poetry.
