The Expiration


SO, so, break off this last lamenting kiss,
 Which sucks two souls, and vapours both away;
Turn, thou ghost, that way, and let me turn this,
 And let ourselves benight our happiest day.
We ask none leave to love; nor will we owe
 Any so cheap a death as saying, "Go."

Go; and if that word have not quite killed thee,
 Ease me with death, by bidding me go too.
Or, if it have, let my word work on me,
 And a just office on a murderer do.
Except it be too late, to kill me so,
 Being double dead, going, and bidding, "Go."


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Return to the John Donne library , or . . . Read the next poem; The Flea

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