Song: Go and catch a falling
star
by John Donne
(The poem, Summary & Analysis)
John Donne (1572–1631) was an English
poet, scholar, soldier and secretary, who later became a cleric in the Church
of England. He was made Dean of St Paul's Cathedral in London (1621–1631). He
is considered the preeminent representative of the metaphysical poets. His
poetical works are noted for their metaphorical and sensual style and include
sonnets, love poems, religious poems, Latin translations, epigrams, elegies,
songs, and satires. He is also known for his sermons.
Donne's style is characterized by abrupt
openings and various paradoxes, ironies and dislocations. These features were a
reaction against the smoothness of conventional Elizabethan poetry. His early
career was marked by poetry that bore immense knowledge of English society. One
important theme in Donne's poetry is the idea of true religion. He wrote
secular poems as well as erotic and love poems. He is particularly famous for
his mastery of metaphysical conceits.
Despite his great education and poetic
talents, Donne lived in poverty for several years, relying heavily on wealthy
friends. He spent much of the money he inherited during and after his education
on womanizing, literature, pastimes, and travel. In 1601, Donne secretly
married Anne More, with whom he had twelve children. In 1615 he was ordained
deacon and then Anglican priest, although he did not want to take Holy Orders
and only did so because the king ordered it. He also served as a member of
Parliament in 1601 and in 1614.
Song: Go and catch a falling star
(The
Poem)
In
the print anthology, this poem is titled simply ‘Song’.
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.
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