Explore "Twickenham Garden" by John Donne on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Blasted with sighs, and surrounded with tears, / Hither I come to seek the spring, / And at mine eyes, and at mine ears, / Receive such balms as else cure everything. / But O! self-traitor, I do bring / The spider Love, which transubstantiates all, / And can convert manna to gall; / And that this place may thoroughly be thought / True paradise, I have the serpent brought.
'Twere wholesomer for me that winter did / Benight the glory of this place, / And that a grave frost did forbid / These trees to laugh and mock me to my face; / But that I may not this disgrace / Endure, nor yet leave loving, Love, let me / Some senseless piece of this place be; / Make me a mandrake, so I may grow here, / Or a stone fountain weeping out my year.