
In this poem, John Donne compares his Muse to a woman entering her third widowhood who vows herself to a nun's retirement, and he likewise turns his own poetic powers toward a chaste fallowness. He acknowledges that his verse has, to a few readers though too many for his liking, revealed how love-songs (called weeds) and satiric thorns have overgrown the seeds of better arts that were sown in him early. He argues that loving and practicing poetry is, for him, no adultery, since he is betrothed to no single art, and he adds that omissions of good are as much ill deeds as ill deeds themselves. He reflects that although human vanity and idle pursuits may seem light and insignificant to us, in God's faithful scales, where men's works are weighed, vanity weighs as much as sin. He acknowledges that souls may have stained their original whiteness, but they may clothe themselves with faith and dear honesty, which God then counts as native purity. He states that there is no virtue but religion, and that qualities called wise, valiant, sober, and just are names possessed by anyone who merely has the discretion to cover vice, not true virtue itself. He urges seeking oneself within oneself, comparing this to how men, by gathering the sun's beams with a crystal glass, force the sun to pass with much greater force. Similarly, by turning inward and blowing on the spark of virtue within, one may out-burn the straw that lingers about the heart. He notes that physicians, when infusing the souls of simples (herbal essences) into oil, choose places where the mixture may lie still and warm, and he compares this process to how retiredness works within a person: to roam giddily and be everywhere except at home turns freedom into a kind of banishment. He describes people as farmers of themselves, who, if they can stock and cultivate themselves well and thrive, may lay up much precious treasure for the great rent day. He closes by urging the recipient to manure and improve himself, to remain unmoved by vain outward things, and instead to know that the speaker loves him and wishes to be loved in return.
By John Donne · First published 1633 · Genre: Verse Letter, Metaphysical Poetry, Religious Poetry · 417 words
Like one who in her third widowhood doth profess / Herself a nun, tied to retiredness, / So affects my Muse, now, a chaste fallowness.
Since she to few, yet to too many hath shown, / How love-song weeds and satiric thorns are grown, / Where seeds of better arts were early sown;
Though to use and love poetry, to me, / Betroth'd to no one art, be no adultery; / Omissions of good, ill, as ill deeds be.
For though to us it seem but light and thin, / Yet in those faithful scales, where God throws in / Men's works, vanity weighs as much as sin.
To Mr. Rowland Woodward: Like One who in her Third Widowhood Doth Profess is listed on Textopian as a poem by John Donne, dated 1633 CE.
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metaphysical poetry · 17th century · elegy · English literature · widowhood · grief · loss · death · love poetry · devotional · religious themes · marriage