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Poem by John Donne


Witchcraft by a Picture


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. 



John Donne


John Donne's other poems:
  1. Crucifying
  2. Temple
  3. The Indifferent
  4. The Soule
  5. Fall of a Wall


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