before, behind, between, above, below

When I made my new reorganized spreadsheet for National Poetry Month, I discovered a pattern: on my birthday, every year since I began in 2007, I have alternated between Donne and Auden. (There has only been one exception: in 2008, which was a weird year in general, I posted the entire first book of Paradise Lost on my birthday.) Last year was an Auden year, so this year is a Donne year; I love Donne, both dirty and sublime, and I thought perhaps this was a year to break into the Elegies. Also I like to post sexy poems on my birthday.

Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
Until I labour, I in labour lie.
The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,
Is tir'd with standing, though he never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven's zone glittering,
But a fair fairer world incompassing.
Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,
That th' eyes of busy fools may be stopt there.
Unlace your self, for that harmonious chime,
Tells me from you, that now it is bed time.
Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals,
As when from flowery meads th'hill's shadow steals.
Off with your wyerie Coronet and show
The hairy Diademe which on you doth grow.
Now off with those shoes, and then softly tread
In this love's hallow'd temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes, heaven's Angels used to be
Receaved by men: thou Angel bring'st with thee
A heaven like Mahomet's Paradise, and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know,
By this these Angels from an evil sprite,
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
    Licence my roaving hands, and let them go,
Before, behind, between, above, below.
O my America, my new-found-land,
My kingdome, safeliest when with one man man'd,
My mine of precious stones, my Emperie,
How blest am I in this discovering thee!
To enter in these bonds, is to be free;
Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.
    Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee,
As souls unbodied, bodies uncloth'd must be,
To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
Are like Atlanta's balls cast, in men's views,
That when a fool's eye lighteth on a gem,
His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them:
Like pictures, or like books gay coverings made
For laymen, are all women thus array'd.
Themselves are mystick books, which only we
(Whom their imputed grace will dignify)
Must see reveal'd. Then since that I may know;
As liberally, as to a Midwife show
Thy self: cast all, yea, this white linen hence,
There is no penance, much less innocence:
To teach thee, I am naked first; why then,
What needst thou have more covering than a man?

—John Donne (1572-1631), Elegie XIX, "To His Mistress Going To Bed." I made some random editorial decisions about punctuation and orthography.

It's been a good birthday. Some of my friends are still here, and we've been talking about Donne and how there should be a Doctor Who episode called "Jack and the Doctor" in which Donne is a companion, and Clarissa, and 18th century fanfiction, and YA fantasy, and the Wizard's Oath. We also had cake and ice cream cake, and earlier today I took my roommate out to breakfast and went and bought myself things and wandered around in the beautiful weather and cleaned my apartment and painted my toenails. I am also wearing lots and lots of glitter and a little black dress. Here's to 27.

Also: a very happy birthday to all the other birthdays today and this week (it is a week of birthdays!); and I love you all. ♥