teach me to hear the mermaids singing

I went to Borough Market this morning, which was utterly wonderful, although I think in future I need to be out of there by noon, because the last hour was kind of miserably crowded. I bought many delicious things, however, including strawberries and cream and fancy mushrooms and focaccia and pesto and eggplants and sage. I think I will eat very well, this week. As a consequence of Borough Market, I considered posting Christina Rossetti's Goblin Market, but the truth is, I don't really like it all that much. I also thought about posting Keats's Eve of St. Agnes, for similar dangerously delectable fruit-imagery reasons, but many of the same principles apply. So, circuitously:

Go and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the devil's foot,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy's stinging,
And find
What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou be'st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,
All strange wonders that befell thee,
And swear,
No where
Lives a woman true and fair.

If thou find'st one, let me know,
Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet do not, I would not go,
Though at next door we might meet,
Though she were true, when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
Yet she
Will be
False, ere I come, to two, or three.

~John Donne (1572-1631), Song: Go and catch a falling star.

Poll: Did you first encounter this poem in a) Neil Gaiman's Stardust, b) Diana Wynne Jones's Howl's Moving Castle, c) school, d) here, or e) somewhere else entirely? It was Howl's Moving Castle, for me, and I've loved it since. Maybe I can thank Sophie - though probably not Howl - for letting me overlook the misogyny for a while.