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John Donne

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Salute the last and everlasting day, Joy at the uprising of this sun, and son, Ye whose true tears, or tribulation Have purely washed, or burnt your drossy clay; Behold the Highest, parting hence away, Lightens the dark clouds, which he treads upon; Nor...
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Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much...
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Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb, Now leaves His well-belov'd imprisonment, There He hath made Himself to His intent Weak enough, now into the world to come; But O, for thee, for Him, hath the inn no room? Yet lay Him in...