Poetry Friday, Jack Donne

Break of Day

'Tis true, 'tis day; what though it be?
O wilt thou therefore rise from me?
Why should we rise because 'tis light?
Did we lie down because 'twas night?
Love, which in spite of darkness brought us hither,
Should in despite of light keep us together.

Light hath no tongue, but is all eye;
If it could speak as well as spy,
This were the worst that it could say,
That being well, I fain would stay,
And that I loved my heart and honor so
That I would not from him, that had them, go.

Must business thee from hence remove?
O, that's the worst disease of love.
The poor, the foul, the false, love can
Admit, but not the busied man.
He which hath business, and makes love, doth do
Such wrong, as when a married man doth woo.

I feel this way every single time a man** leaves my bed, even though it's usually the case that I need to get up and take care of business just as much or more than he does. That Donne knew something about the woes of TCB when all you really want to do is make out with a bassist (or a front man or a sound man or a gorgeous coach or a narcissistic string theory guy, whatever the case may be).

Business is totally the "worst disease of love" and of blogging and of drinking cocktails and of Septembers of planned fun. At least I had the one glorious weekend in Favorite City. Sigh. It's not over yet though, right? More fun can be had, in spite of the towering pile of work. (I so wish More Fun himself could be had, but alas he's returned to the road with the rock-n-roll circus.)

By the way, I think a married man doth woo me. Except he's not really married, or rather he was technically married but had been separated for two years from his wife when I dated him five years ago. Will keep you posted, on his current marital status as well as the state of the woo.

*Okay, okay, every time a man I like leaves my bed. Let's just assume only men I actually like are in my bed to begin with.