Poet John Donne

John Donne

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Elegy Viii: The Comparison Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABCDDDDEECCFFGG DHIIDDCCFFDDFFJJKKLM NNOOPQRRSSTUDDDDDD

As the sweet sweat of roses in a stillA
As that which from chafed musk cats' pores doth trillA
As the almighty balm of th' early EastB
Such are the sweat drops of my mistress' breastC
And on her brow her skin such lustre setsD
They seem no sweat drops but pearl coronetsD
Rank sweaty froth thy Mistress's brow defilesD
Like spermatic issue of ripe menstruous boilsD
Or like the scum which by need's lawless lawE
Enforced Sanserra's starved men did drawE
From parboiled shoes and boots and all the restC
Which were with any sovereigne fatness blestC
And like vile lying stones in saffroned tinF
Or warts or weals they hang upon her skinF
Round as the world's her head on every sideG
Like to the fatal ball which fell on IdeG
-
Or that whereof God had such jealousyD
As for the ravishing thereof we dieH
Thy head is like a rough hewn statue of jetI
Where marks for eyes nose mouth are yet scarce setI
Like the first Chaos or flat seeming faceD
Of Cynthia when th' earth's shadows her embraceD
Like Proserpine's white beauty keeping chestC
Or Jove's best fortunes urn is her fair breastC
Thine's like worm eaten trunks clothed in seals' skinF
Or grave that's dust without and stink withinF
And like that slender stalk at whose end standsD
The woodbine quivering are her arms and handsD
Like rough barked elm boughs or the russet skinF
Of men late scourged for madness or for sinF
Like sun parched quarters on the city gateJ
Such is thy tanned skin's lamentable stateJ
And like a bunch of ragged carrots standK
The short swol'n fingers of thy gouty handK
Then like the Chimic's masculine equal fireL
Which in the Lymbecks warm womb doth inspireM
Into th' earth's worthless dirt a soul of goldN
Such cherishing heat her best loved part doth holdN
Thine's like the dread mouth of a fired gunO
Or like hot liquid metals newly runO
Into clay moulds or like to that EtnaP
Where round about the grass is burnt awayQ
Are not your kisses then as filthy and moreR
As a worm sucking an envenomed soreR
Doth not thy feareful hand in feeling quakeS
As one which gath'ring flowers still fears a snakeS
Is not your last act harsh and violentT
As when a plough a stony ground doth rentU
So kiss good turtles so devoutly niceD
Are priests in handling reverent sacrificeD
And such in searching wounds the surgeon isD
As we when we embrace or touch or kissD
Leave her and I will leave comparing thusD
She and comparisons are odiousD

John Donne



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