 | Poems, By J. D. [i.e. John Donne] |  |
The Computation.
For the first twenty yeares, since yesterday,I scarce beleev'd, thou could'st be gone away,
For forty more, I fed on favours past,
And forty'on hopes, that thou would'st, they might last.
Teares drown'd one hundred, and sighes blew out two,
A thousand, I did neither thinke, nor doe.
Or not divide, all being one thought of you;
Or in a thousand more, forgot that too.
Yet call not this long life; But thinke that I
Am, by being dead, Immortall; Can ghosts die?
| Poems, By J. D. [i.e. John Donne] | |