(24 January 1572 - 31 March 1631 / London, England)

The Token

Send me some token, that my hope may live,
Or that my easeless thoughts may sleep and rest;
Send me some honey to make sweet my hive,
That in my passions I may hope the best.
I beg no riband wrought with thine own hands,
To knit our loves in the fantastic strain
Of new-touched youth; nor ring to show the stands
Of our affection, that as that's round and plain,
So should our loves meet in simplicity;
No, nor the corals which thy wrist enfold,
Laced up together in congruity,
To show our thoughts should rest in the same hold;
No, nor thy picture, though most gracious,
And most desired, because best like the best;
Nor witty lines, which are most copious,
Within the writings which thou hast addressed.

Send me nor this, nor that, to increase my store,
But swear thou think'st 'I love thee,' and no more.

User Rating: 2,9 / 5 ( 75 votes ) 2

Comments (2)

Donne expresses a sentiment mention by Shakespeare. That all things are not of value unless one has the Love of a special Lover.
An intense love poem with superb flow of emotions.