There’s a battle going on for the position of my favorite poet. RIght now, the list looks like this
1 John Donne or John Keats
2. (whoever loses in category 1)
3. Emily Dickinson
I just can’t decide who I like better! Donne has the “best metaphysical poet” award and Keats gained the “best imagery and best secular subject matter” award. Maybe I shouldn’t try and compare them because they’re so different and give them each the “Charity’s favorite poet” award (not that they would care). AH!
Donne definitely gained some points today with his Holy Sonnet XI. Read it for yourself and I’m sure you’ll agree. Hopefully this battle will end someday, but for now I’m having fun pitting them against each other and watching the battle
Spit in my face, you Jews, and pierce my side,
Buffet, and scoff, scourge, and crucify me,
For I have sinn’d, and sinne’, and only He,
Who could do no iniquity, hath died.
But by my death can not be satisfied
My sins, which pass the Jews’ impiety.
They kill’d once an inglorious man, but I
Crucify him daily, being now glorified.
O let me then His strange love still admire ;
Kings pardon, but He bore our punishment ;
And Jacob came clothed in vile harsh attire,
But to supplant, and with gainful intent ;
God clothed Himself in vile man’s flesh, that so
He might be weak enough to suffer woe.