Poetry Alive

John Donne's elaborate conceits are known for going beyond the simplistic metaphors of most love poetry, but they are at their best when, as here, they're not just intelligent symbolism but relevant, poignant embodiments of the feeling being experienced. As relevant today as it was 400 years ago, this poem captures that mix of playfullness and seriousness peculiar to the lover. Busy old fool, unruly Sun, Why dost thou thus, Through windows, and through curtains, call on us? Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run? Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide Late school-boys and sour prentices, Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride, Call country ants to harvest offices; Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime, Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time. Thy beams so reverend, and strong Why shouldst thou think? I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink, But that I would not lose her sight so long. If her eyes have not blinded thin