Return to Elegy V (thing)

by [John Donne]

His Picture

Here take my [picture]; though I bid farewell,
Thing, in my [heart], where my soul dwells, shall dwell.
'Tis like me now, but I dead, 'twill be more,
When we are shadows both, than 'twas before.
When weatherbeaten I come back; my hand
Perhaps with rude [oars] torn, or [sun-beams] tann'd,
mMy face and breast of haircloth, and my head
With care's harsh sudden hoariness o'erspread,
My body a sack of bones, [broken] within,
And powder's blue stains scatter'd on my skin;
IIf rival fools tax thee to have loved a man,
So foul and coarse, as O! I may seem then,
This shall say what I was; and thou shalt say,
"Do his hurts reach me? doth [my worth] [decay]?
Or do they reach his judging mind, that he
Should now love less, and what he did love to see?
That which in him was fair and [delicate],
Was but the milk, which in love's [childish] state
Did nurse it; Who now is grown strond enough
To feed on that, which to weak tastes seems tough."

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