Witchcraft By A Picture

John Donne

I fix mine eye on thine, and there
Pity my picture burning in thine eye;
My picture drowned in a transparent tear,
When I look lower I espy.
Hadst thou the wicked skill
By pictures made and mard, to kill,
How many ways mightst thou perform thy will?

But now I have drunk thy sweet salt tears,
And though thou pour more I’ll depart;
My picture vanished, vanish fears
That I can be endamaged by that art;
Though thou retain of me
One picture more, yet that will be,
Being in thine own heart, from all malice free.

Next 10 Poems

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• Hilda Doolittle : Cities
• Hilda Doolittle : Eurydice
• Hilda Doolittle : Fragment Sixty-eight
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• Hilda Doolittle : Heat
• Hilda Doolittle : Helen
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Previous 10 Poems

• John Donne : To His Mistress Going To Bed
• John Donne : The Triple Fool
• John Donne : The Token
• John Donne : The Sun Rising
• John Donne : The Prohibition
• John Donne : The Primrose
• John Donne : The Paradox
• John Donne : The Message
• John Donne : The Legacy
• John Donne : The Indifferent