The First Anniversary: An Anatomy of the World (Published in 1611) by John Donne (Poem, Summary, Paraphrase, Analysis & Questions)

 

The First Anniversary: An Anatomy of the World (Published in 1611)

by John Donne 

(Poem, Summary, Paraphrase, Analysis & Questions) 

The First Anniversary: An Anatomy of the World

When that rich soul which to her heaven is gone,

Whom all do celebrate, who know they have one—

(For who is sure he hath a soul, unless

It see, and judge, and follow worthiness,

And by deeds praise it? he who doth not this,

May lodge an inmate soul, but ’tis not his)—

When that queen ended here her progress time,

And, as t’her standing house, to heaven did climb,

Where loath to make the saints attend her long,

She’s now a part both of the choir and song;

This world in that great earthquake languished:

For in a common bath of tears it bled,

Which drew the strongest vital spirits out

Of all the world, just as there did flow about

Three hours of tears, drawn by an earthly shower,

Which show’d the passion of the world’s great power;

Sighs, which men’s breasts devoured, ev’n from the heart,

Hissed forth, so soon as it was pierc’d, a part

Of the best soul yet in the worst case laid,

That greatest soul that ever ruin stay’d.

God took her hence, lest some idolater,

Or blasphemous disheritor of her,

Might, when he meant to praise her, have expressed

Himself through him, to whom she was but dressed;

And by so doing, make her virtue less,

To satisfy his lewd ambassadress,

Who, being to learn to pray, to pray did fall,

And turn’d her own heaven to her rival’s hall.

 

God, as his pure and elder works decays,

So doth he make new creatures by new ways:

Those he hath made, and made with hands, and not

With his word, as if they had been forgot

Till they were made, he as repents: so must

God often put his finger to the dust

Of our mortality, whose equal frame

And countenance he would make all the same.

God, though he made man, sees, which man alone

Of all his creatures hath undone his own

Good works and his Creator’s image; He

Though he be immutably good, yet we

By our own will become evil. She is gone

To make us good, and dead, she makes us one;

We live in her; and if such virtue be

In her that died, what was her life to me?

Let no man say, she died too soon, who know

That she was old enough to go.

Her infancy was virtue; her youth, truth;

Her age, felicity; her death, a proof

Of her humility. Death wrought this height

To her, and it doth make us live aright.

 

Though in this world, no man’s life can be

So virtuous, as to ’scape calumny,

Though none can live without the world’s report,

Yet heaven’s design still makes the best the sport.

And though she were the best, and we may say

Not only better than the best were they,

Who said her worse, yet the best did her wrong,

While they believed it. Though the slander strong,

And false, yet kept some credit in the end,

And mingled with the truth did shadows lend

To her bright virtues. For as glass is clean

And perfect when no tinge of green is seen,

So is the soul when with pure truth it flows,

But they that taint it, stain the white with shows.

She kept the truth pure. But the accuser's sight

Was error still, and could not read her right.

Even angels, though they tremble when they fall,

Do not always see who trips them—this is all

That man can do; she saw her error's side

And avoided them, yet ne’er herself belied.

 

Because through many straits and narrow ways

We labor for our bliss, the eternal gaze

Of God, and all the angels, gave her leave

To make her passage through a sieve,

Whose parts, although most pure, yet, as in frail

And crumbling crystal, might some spots prevail.

Her death, though pure, did not itself suffice

To cleanse the world's impurities, nor rise

Above all maladies and worldly stains

That clothe the soul in this life’s wretched chains.

Therefore she passed through death, to live more bright,

Not as a punishment, but crown of right.

She went through death to life, and finds there now

A crown of stars upon her constant brow.

Not that the stars do crown her, but her light

Is such that they do borrow from her sight.

She’s joined with angels now, and with them sings

Louder than spheres, sweeter than cherub’s strings.

 

But as in Athens, when a holiday

Did celebrate some god’s nativity,

The city emptied, and the most did roam

To the fields and temples far from home,

Some few remained, whose speech and garments showed

They were above the people, and yet owed

Their fame and rank to that now absent crowd—

So in this world the wise remain aloud,

Speaking of virtue, teaching what she was,

While fools are gone to shadows and to mass.

The fleshly crowd is gone, but some remain

To speak of her, and echo back her strain.

She, who is dead, lives still in praise and fame,

And we survive to keep alive her name.

 

She, when she lived, never made house or town

Too narrow for her; her true heart's renown

Filled all, embraced all, and made all seem free;

She was the soul of love and courtesy.

Now she is gone, the houses seem too great,

The people empty, and their talk but prate.

For she was all in all, and had the art

To draw the worthiest toward her loving heart.

She was a temple, and within her breast

The Holy Ghost took hourly, daily rest.

She was a sacrifice, both meek and pure,

Fit to ascend, and with the saints endure.

Her tears were chrism, her sighs sweet incense were,

Her thoughts were alms, her words were faithful prayer.

 

Religion lived in her so perfect,

That, were the Church extinct, her intellect

And actions would have kept it yet alive.

She did the best of holy texts derive

Into her life and being; she was law

Unto herself, and others, without flaw.

She was a mirror wherein all might see

The pattern of pure true divinity.

She was a book wherein all souls might read

The mysteries of love and faith and deed.

 

But now she’s gone, and this great book is closed,

This light is quenched, and all the world exposed

To darkness, error, vanity, and sin.

This outward temple hath no priest within.

The lamps are out, and we are left to grope

Through darkened aisles, with very little hope.

Yet if we seek her rightly, she will guide

Our feet, and with her star our course will bide.

 

She, she is gone; she’s gone! When thou know’st this,

What fragmentary rubbish this world is

Thou know’st, and that it is not worth a thought;

He honors it too much that thinks it nought.

Think then, my soul, that death is but a groom

Which brings a taper to the outward room,

Whence thou spiest first a little glimmering light,

And after brings it nearer to thy sight:

For such approaches doth heaven make in death.

If then, when thou dost first hear the death's breath

Thou think'st thyself a candle that must die,

Oh! ignorant soul, doth thou not know that I

In death burst forth a soul, and let thee see

Heaven as thou saw’st thy mother’s womb and thee?

 

Shall I not see her face ere I ascend?

Then may I rise the higher by that bend.

If ever any beauty I did see,

Which had a soul in’t, this is she, this she.

The world’s whole sap is sunk: the general balm

Th’hydroptic earth hath drunk, distilling calm

From her distill’d perfume; and only she

Is fixed and firm in her stability.

Here’s no more usage to survive and be

Virtue’s example, and wit’s modesty.

Here’s no more stage to act a glorious part,

Where virtue yet survives with half a heart.

She, of all good the story, and the best

That ever lived to be the interest

Of all mankind, doth now but show us this—

That dust’s not life, and flesh is nothingness.

 

We labor to give legs and arms and faces

To thy great soul, but we lack all the graces.

Our lisping numbers strive, and, striving, fail;

We blush that our invention proves so frail.

For what doth all that poets ever said

Of virtue and of goodness, now weighed,

But flow upon this stream, and rise no higher

Than she whose soul is virtue, flame, and fire?

She, of whom all this world hath had its share

To keep it from degenerating there

Where nature left it? She, whose form might frame

All hearts to love, whose virtue might inflame

All souls to goodness? Who, had she been born

In pagan times, had all the thrones forsworn

Their lesser deities, and made her shrine

Their central temple, and their rites divine?

 

But we, born in these times, dare not aspire

To equal praise, or draw so high a lyre.

Yet, since to praise her is to make men good,

We’ll bless her memory, as we know we should.

We’ll learn of her to be resigned and still,

To rise from earth, and curb the wanton will.

She is our map, our compass, and our sea,

Wherein, though lost, we find the perfect way.

Though absent, she directs, though silent, teaches,

Though dead, yet lives, and still with virtue preaches.

And though our tears, our sighs, our thoughts are vain,

She turns them all to incense, not to pain.

 

Since then she’s gone, and since we, out of dust,

Would grow to substance, and do more than trust

The subtle schools, that write as if they knew

That when we die we cease to be, though true

In bodies; and because we would not see

The narrow soul’s shrunk room in misery,

We track the stars, and think we’re more than clay,

Who dwell in dust, and wear it every day.

But she is gone, and with her is gone out

The world: it is no longer world without

Her light. All good things center, and they die

When she is gone. We count her memory

Our calendar: the year begins from this,

And in her death her life’s true glory is.

 

She carried with her all the souls of worth,

As stars are drawn up by the sun from earth.

Wisdom, and goodness, and all excellence,

Stay with her in her grave, or rose from thence.

She being the first, as fate would have her be

The example of our frail mortality,

Went hence in virtue’s pride, not driven by need,

And left behind the world to mourn her deed.

We live, but not in life; this flesh we wear

Is but death’s robe, in which we yet appear.

We are but shadows, and the world is made

Of empty things, and all things false and fade.

She was all substance, and in her did lie

The hidden soul of all true piety.

Now that she’s gone, the spirit of all grace

And goodness leaves the world a ruin’d place.

 

So though the world be darkened, we must find

Light in our grief, and greatness in the mind.

Let her fair virtues in our lives be read,

And though we lost her body, not her head.

Let her example, like a compass, guide

Our course in life, and let her be our pride.

Let us not grieve, as those who have no hope,

But like bright stars beyond the cloudy scope

Of human reason, look beyond the tomb,

And seek her light, in her eternal room.

 

There shall we find her, crowned in robes of white,

The soul’s true spouse, arrayed in perfect light.

There shall she shine, and there shall be her sphere,

Beyond our sighs, and ever free from fear.

There saints and angels know her by her name,

And in their choirs her worthiness proclaim.

There God himself shall wipe away all tears,

And end with joy what we begin with fears.

 

This is her year: the first fruits of her soul,

The spring of virtue, where the graces roll.

This is the dawn, and we but feel the ray,

The sun is rising to eternal day.

Rise then, my soul, and lift thyself to see

Her immortal form and immortality.

Leave flesh and earth behind, ascend and climb

To trace her footsteps in eternal time.

Learn to live well, that thou may’st die so too,

To live with her, is all the heaven we knew.

 

Summary

Lines 1 – 120

Announcement of a great woman’s death

Donne opens by saying that a “rich soul”—a virtuous young woman—has gone to heaven.

Her passing feels like an earthquake to the whole world; everyone mourns.

Why God removed her

God took her away to keep people from turning her into an idol.

Her mission in death

By dying, she helps make the rest of humanity better; her virtue lives on.

She was complete at every age

Her infancy was virtue, youth was truth, maturity was happiness, and death is humility proven.

Calumny cannot harm her now

While alive she was sometimes slandered, but death has sealed her true reputation.

 

Lines 121 – 240

Passage through death as purification

She passed through “a sieve,” becoming even purer in the process.

Her heavenly status

Now she sings with angels; even the stars seem to borrow light from her.

Effect on those left behind

Most people have scattered “to shadows,” but a wise few stay to praise her.

Her life as a living temple

When she lived, her very presence filled spaces with love and courtesy; her thoughts, words, and tears were like religious offerings.

Perfect model of religion

Had the Church vanished, her life alone could have kept true faith alive.

The world without her

With her gone, the “outer temple” is dark; but her example can still guide anyone who seeks it.

 

Lines 241 – 360

Realisation of the world’s fragility

Knowing she is gone, the poet sees the world as worthless “rubbish.”

Death compared to a servant with a candle

Death merely brings a light closer, letting the soul glimpse heaven.

She embodied all goodness

Her virtue could have turned pagan temples into shrines to her if she’d been born in ancient times.

The poet’s inadequacy

Donne admits that poets’ words are too weak to capture her worth, yet praising her can still inspire others to goodness.

Her continuing influence

Even silent and absent, she serves as map, compass, and teacher for those on earth.

 

Lines 361 – 480

Her death marks the world’s calendar

Her passing resets time itself; the true “year” now starts with her death.

She drew all virtue with her

Wisdom and excellence either remain with her body or rose with her soul.

The world left as shadow

People alive are mere “shadows” wearing death’s robe; she was the true substance.

Call to emulate her

Donne urges readers to read her virtues in their own lives and not grieve hopelessly.

Vision of her eternal state

In heaven she shines in white robes, praised by saints and angels, beyond all fear.

Invitation to spiritual ascent

The poem ends by urging the soul to rise, leave earth behind, and live so as to join her—because “to live with her is all the heaven we knew.”

 

Paraphrase

Lines 1–120

When that noble and virtuous soul left this world and went to heaven, everyone who had any spiritual awareness grieved deeply.

You can only say you truly have a soul if you recognize and follow goodness.

She, a queen among people, ended her earthly journey and went to her eternal home in heaven.

She didn’t make the saints wait—she joined them immediately and became part of their heavenly choir.

Her death shook the world like a massive earthquake.

Tears poured out from all corners of the world, just like they did for Christ’s death.

Sighs and sorrow filled every heart because such a great soul had died.

God took her before people could misuse her memory, praise her falsely, or turn her into an idol.

Her life was filled with virtue, but even more, her death now inspires people to live rightly.

She didn’t die too young—she was mature in wisdom and grace.

Her life stages were all marked by spiritual strength.

Now her death proves her humility, and her soul continues to guide us.

 

Lines 121–240

Because eternal happiness comes only after many struggles, God allowed her to pass through death.

She was already pure, but this final step made her even more radiant.

Death wasn’t a punishment—it was a passage into glory.

She shines so brightly in heaven that even the stars seem dim by comparison.

On earth, during festivals, wise people would stay back from the crowd—likewise, now only a few remain here to speak of her true worth.

While others are distracted, we remember her.

When she was alive, her presence made homes and cities seem joyful and complete.

Now that she’s gone, everything feels empty.

She had a gift for attracting good people to her.

She was like a temple of God—holy, humble, and filled with divine presence.

Her actions—her tears, her thoughts, her words—were sacred.

If religion had disappeared, her life alone could’ve kept it alive.

She lived out the teachings of Scripture in her everyday actions.

She was a role model, a mirror of goodness, and a living sermon.

Now that she’s gone, the world is like an abandoned church with no priest and no light.

But if we follow her example, she will still guide us.

 

Lines 241–360

Now that she’s gone, we can see how little value the world really has.

Death is like a servant who brings a candle into a dark room—it doesn’t end life, it reveals eternity.

If you think death means your soul dies like a blown-out candle, you don’t understand: death sets your soul free.

She has passed into true life; what we call death is just the gateway to glory.

All goodness and virtue in the world seem to have gone with her.

The world no longer has strong examples of truth and goodness.

She was the one who made the world better; now the world is less because she’s gone.

We try to describe her in poetry, but our words fall short.

She was the real meaning behind every good thing poets ever praised.

If she had lived in ancient times, people would’ve worshipped her instead of lesser gods.

Though we can’t give her that kind of praise, we should still try, because honoring her inspires others to live better.

She remains our example, map, and compass.

Even though she’s dead, her life continues to teach us.

 

Lines 361–480

Her death has changed the world so much that we can say time begins again from that day.

She took all true wisdom and virtue with her—either it stayed with her body, or it rose with her soul.

Without her, the world is a shadow of what it used to be.

We’re just shells wearing bodies of dust—she was the real substance.

We try to build her image through poetry, but we lack the grace she had.

Our words are weak, but still we try to honor her.

Even if we mourn, she turns our grief into something meaningful.

Let’s not grieve without hope; instead, let’s be guided by her example.

In heaven, she is shining in garments of light, surrounded by saints and angels.

There, she is honored forever, and God has wiped away all sorrow.

This year marks the first celebration of her eternal life.

She is the dawn of a new spiritual day.

So let our souls rise as well—leave behind earthly things and follow her upward.

Live well, so that we can die well too—for to live with her is the greatest heaven we can imagine.

 

Analysis in Detail

John Donne’s The First Anniversary is a rich, philosophical elegy written in memory of Elizabeth Drury, the deceased daughter of Sir Robert Drury, Donne’s patron. Though Elizabeth died at the age of fourteen, Donne elevates her to the role of a near-divine presence—a symbolic figure representing the decay of the world and the promise of spiritual renewal. The poem, running to 480 lines, is not only a eulogy for a young girl but a profound meditation on mortality, virtue, the soul, and the spiritual crisis of Donne’s age.

 

Elegy as Moral Anatomy

The subtitle—An Anatomy of the World—is significant. “Anatomy” here refers not just to a dissection of a corpse but to a moral and philosophical dissection of the world itself. Elizabeth Drury’s death provides Donne with the occasion to examine what he sees as a deeply flawed and decaying world. Her passing symbolizes the withdrawal of virtue and moral order from earthly life. Donne uses her as a measuring stick against which the world’s corruption becomes visible.

In this sense, the poem functions less as a private lament for a specific person and more as a universal lament for the human condition. The dead girl becomes an emblem—perhaps even an allegory—of a lost age of innocence and integrity. Through her, Donne critiques the decline of spirituality, the vanity of worldly values, and the false confidence of human reason.

 

Structure and Movement

The poem has no formal divisions, but it unfolds in distinct thematic movements. It begins with the grief and reverence surrounding Elizabeth’s death. Donne immediately enlarges her importance by describing the universal impact of her loss, comparing it to a cosmic rupture, like an earthquake. Her death, according to Donne, didn’t merely affect her family or friends—it unbalanced the entire world.

Next, the poem transitions into philosophical reflections on the nature of virtue, the soul, and divine order. Donne explores how Elizabeth’s life and death both reveal the moral emptiness of the world and point toward spiritual truths. Her purity and piety are not only personal attributes but also evidence of divine presence on earth, now withdrawn.

Eventually, the poem becomes deeply theological, contemplating the difference between the material world and the eternal. Elizabeth, in dying, has transcended the decay of the physical world. Her soul, Donne says, has risen to join the angels, and she now functions as a kind of spiritual compass for the living.

The poem ends with a call to the reader—and perhaps to Donne himself—to prepare for death, to learn from Elizabeth’s example, and to recognize the spiritual bankruptcy of the world. In the last lines, Donne envisions Elizabeth glorified in heaven, beyond fear and corruption, and urges his soul to rise and follow her.

 

Themes and Philosophical Concerns

1. Death and Immortality

Death, in Donne’s poem, is not an end but a transition. He rejects the idea of death as annihilation and instead views it as a passage into true life. Donne even compares death to a servant bringing a candle to light a dark room—a vivid image of spiritual awakening. For Elizabeth, death was a glorification, not a punishment. She went through it as through a final test of purity.

 

2. Decay of the World

A core theme is that the world has fallen into moral and spiritual decay. Elizabeth’s death is treated as symbolic: with her gone, the world has lost its last true example of virtue. Donne’s bleak assessment of the world reflects both his personal melancholy and the broader anxieties of the early 17th century—a time of political instability, religious conflict, and scientific upheaval. The title “Anatomy” suggests the world is not only sick but being dissected, laid bare in its corruption.

 

3. Ideal Virtue

Elizabeth Drury is idealized—perhaps impossibly so. Donne insists that she possessed every virtue at every stage of life: as an infant, she embodied innocence; in youth, truth; and in death, humility and spiritual perfection. She becomes less a real person than a personification of spiritual idealism, almost saint-like, unmarred by the vices and shallowness of others.

 

4. Faith vs. Reason

Donne questions human confidence in science, reason, and earthly knowledge. This theme reflects the tensions of Donne’s time, when the medieval worldview was breaking down, and new scientific thought (like Copernican astronomy) was emerging. Donne sees reason as insufficient to address the soul’s deepest needs. True understanding, he insists, comes from faith, not intellect.

 

5. Transcendence and Resurrection

A powerful final theme is spiritual ascent. The last sections of the poem are filled with imagery of rising—Elizabeth’s soul rising to heaven, the sun rising, the soul rising above the body. The Christian hope of resurrection, transformation, and reunion in eternity is clearly affirmed. Elizabeth becomes a guide for this journey, a shining example of how to live and die rightly.

 

Language and Style

Donne’s style in The First Anniversary is meditative, dense, and at times soaringly lyrical. Though technically an elegy, the poem is not deeply emotional in a personal sense; instead, its emotion is filtered through metaphysical reflection and elaborate conceits.

 

His language blends:

Philosophical abstraction (“essences,” “souls,” “virtue,” “corruption”),

Theological references (sin, grace, angels, resurrection),

And scientific or cosmological imagery (earthquakes, spheres, stars).

The tone is solemn and moralizing, but also hopeful. Donne’s metaphysical manner shines through in paradoxical statements (e.g., death leads to life, shadows are real, flesh is death), which challenge readers to rethink their assumptions about existence and mortality.

 

Conclusion

The First Anniversary is a poem that transcends its occasion. Though it is written for a specific person, it reads like a profound sermon or philosophical treatise on the state of humanity. Donne transforms Elizabeth Drury into a symbol of lost perfection, and her death becomes the lens through which he examines the soul’s journey, the corruption of the world, and the eternal promise of salvation.

In essence, Donne uses grief as a gateway to spiritual truth. His poem is both a lament for a lost individual and a prophetic warning to the world, urging readers to prepare for their own spiritual awakening through the example of one who, in death, became more alive than ever.

 

Possible Exam Questions

Who is the subject of The First Anniversary and why is she significant?

 

What does Donne mean by calling the poem an “Anatomy of the World”?

 

How does Donne describe the world after Elizabeth Drury's death?

 

What is Donne’s view of death in this poem?

 

What role does Elizabeth Drury play in Donne’s moral vision?

 

Mention two metaphors Donne uses to describe the soul.

 

How does Donne contrast the body and soul in the poem?

 

In what way does Donne elevate Elizabeth beyond a mortal figure?

 

Discuss how John Donne uses Elizabeth Drury’s death to critique the moral and spiritual state of the world in The First Anniversary.

 

Examine the structure and progression of ideas in The First Anniversary. How does Donne move from personal loss to philosophical meditation?

 

How does Donne present death not as an end, but as a spiritual transformation in The First Anniversary?

 

“Elizabeth Drury is both a person and a symbol in Donne’s poem.” Elaborate with examples from the text.

 

Explore the theme of decay and spiritual decline in The First Anniversary with reference to Donne’s metaphysical style.

 

Analyze how The First Anniversary reflects Donne’s metaphysical concerns—soul, virtue, death, and eternity.

 

Critically assess Donne’s treatment of time and eternity in the poem. How does the image of ‘anniversary’ function symbolically?

 

Donne’s language in The First Anniversary is both philosophical and poetic. Discuss with suitable illustrations.

 

To what extent is Donne’s praise of Elizabeth Drury exaggerated? Is the poem more about her or about Donne’s own view of the world?

 

How does Donne reconcile sorrow with hope in The First Anniversary?

 

Is Donne’s portrayal of the world realistic, pessimistic, or rhetorical? Support your answer.

 

Compare Donne’s treatment of death in The First Anniversary with any one of his Holy Sonnets.

 

How does Donne engage with religious and scientific thought in the poem? Does he accept or reject the modernity of his time?

 

Explain the significance of the line:

“She, she is gone; she’s gone!”

 

*What does Donne mean when he writes:

“The world’s whole sap is sunk”?

 

Interpret the metaphor:

“Death is but a groom / Which brings a taper to the outward room.”

 

How does the line

“We are but shadows, and the world is made / Of empty things”

reflect the central theme of the poem?

 

Comment on Donne’s use of paradox in the line:

“To live with her is all the heaven we knew.”