Reason is our soul's left hand, Faith her right,
By these we reach divinity.

(John Donne (c. 1572-1631), British divine, metaphysical poet. repr. In Complete Poetry and Selected Prose, ed. John Hayward (1929). Verse Letter to the Countess of Bedford (written c. 1607-1608, published 1633).)

No, no; but as in my idolatry
I said to all my profane mistresses,
Beauty, of pity, foulness only is
A sign of rigour: so I say to thee,
To wicked spirits are horrid shapes assign'd,
This beauteous form assures a piteous mind.

(John Donne (1572-1631), British poet. What if this present (Holy Sonnets) (l. 9-14). . . Oxford Book of Seventeenth Century Verse, The. H. J. C. Grierson and G. Bullough, eds. (1934) Oxford University Press.)

On a round ball
A workman that hath copies by, can lay
An Europe, Afric, and an Asia,
And quickly make that, which was nothing, all;
So doth each tear,
Which thee doth wear,
A globe, yea world, by that impression grow,
Till thy tears mixed with mine do overflow
This world, by waters sent from thee, my heaven dissolved so.

(John Donne (1572-1631), British poet. A Valediction: Of Weeping (l. 10-18). . . Oxford Anthology of English Literature, The, Vols. I-II. Frank Kermode and John Hollander, general eds. (1973) Oxford University Press (Also published as six paperback vols.: Medieval English Literature, J. B. Trapp, ed.; The Literature of Renaissance England, John Hollander and Frank Kermode, eds.; The Restoration and the Eighteenth Century, Martin Price, ed.; Romantic Poetry and Prose, Harold Bloom and Lionel Trilling, eds.; Victorian Prose and Poetry, Lionel Trilling and Harold Bloom, eds.; Modern British Literature, Frank Kermode and John Hollander, eds.).)

Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
To warm the world, that's done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;
This bed thy center is, these walls, thy sphere.

(John Donne (1572-1631), British poet. The Sun Rising (l. 27-30). . . The Complete English Poems [John Donne]. A. J. Smith, ed. (1971) Penguin Books.)

Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

(John Donne (c. 1572-1631), British divine, metaphysical poet. repr. In Complete Poetry and Selected Prose, ed. John Hayward (1929). The Sun Rising, Songs and Sonnets (1633).)

What if this present were the world's last night?
Mark in my heart, O Soul, where thou dost dwell,
The picture of Christ crucified, and tell
Whether that countenance can thee affright,

(John Donne (1572-1631), British poet. What if this present (Holy Sonnets) (l. 1-4). . . Oxford Book of Seventeenth Century Verse, The. H. J. C. Grierson and G. Bullough, eds. (1934) Oxford University Press.)

Dull sublunary lovers' love,
Whose soul is sense, cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
Those things which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined
That our selves know not what it is,
Interassured of the mind,
Careless eyes, lips, and hands to miss.

Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to airy thinness beat.

(John Donne (1572-1631), British poet. A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning (l. 13-24). . . Oxford Anthology of English Literature, The, Vols. I-II. Frank Kermode and John Hollander, general eds. (1973) Oxford University Press (Also published as six paperback vols.: Medieval English Literature, J. B. Trapp, ed.; The Literature of Renaissance England, John Hollander and Frank Kermode, eds.; The Restoration and the Eighteenth Century, Martin Price, ed.; Romantic Poetry and Prose, Harold Bloom and Lionel Trilling, eds.; Victorian Prose and Poetry, Lionel Trilling and Harold Bloom, eds.; Modern British Literature, Frank Kermode and John Hollander, eds.).)

But wonder at a greater wonder, for to us
Created nature doth these things subdue,
But their Creator, whom sin nor nature tied,
For us, his Creatures and his foes, hath died.

(John Donne (1572-1631), British poet. Why are we by all creatures waited on (Holy Sonnets) (l. 11-14). . . Oxford Book of Seventeenth Century Verse, The. H. J. C. Grierson and G. Bullough, eds. (1934) Oxford University Press.)

If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two;
Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show
To move, but doth if th' other do.

(John Donne (1572-1631), British poet. A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning (l. 25-28). . . Oxford Anthology of English Literature, The, Vols. I-II. Frank Kermode and John Hollander, general eds. (1973) Oxford University Press (Also published as six paperback vols.: Medieval English Literature, J. B. Trapp, ed.; The Literature of Renaissance England, John Hollander and Frank Kermode, eds.; The Restoration and the Eighteenth Century, Martin Price, ed.; Romantic Poetry and Prose, Harold Bloom and Lionel Trilling, eds.; Victorian Prose and Poetry, Lionel Trilling and Harold Bloom, eds.; Modern British Literature, Frank Kermode and John Hollander, eds.).)

License my roving hands, and let them go
Before, behind, between, above, below.
O my America! my new-found-land,
My kingdom, safeliest when with one man manned,
My mine of precious stones, my empery,
How blest am I in this discovering thee!
To enter in these bonds is to be free;
Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.

(John Donne (1572-1631), British poet. To His Mistress Going to Bed. . . The Complete English Poems [John Donne]. A. J. Smith, ed. (1971) Penguin Books.)