Classic Audiobook Collection - Holy Sonnets by John Donne ~ Full Audiobook [poetry]

Episode Date: November 9, 2024

Holy Sonnets by John Donne audiobook. Genre: poetry John Donne's Holy Sonnets gathers some of the most daring and intimate devotional poems in English, written in the concentrated, argumentative style that made Donne a defining voice of metaphysical poetry. Across these sonnets, a restless speaker wrestles with sin, mortality, judgment, and the yearning for grace, addressing God with a candor that can feel like a courtroom cross-examination one moment and a private confession the next. Donne turns the language of law, medicine, love, and war into spiritual inquiry, building startling metaphors that press faith into lived experience: the soul as a beleaguered city, the heart as contested ground, death as an arrogant adversary to be challenged. The central conflict is internal and urgent, as the speaker confronts fear of damnation, grief over human frailty, and a fierce desire to be remade, not merely comforted. By combining intellectual rigor with emotional volatility, these poems explore what it means to seek certainty in an unstable world, and how doubt itself can become a route toward deeper devotion. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:01:35) Chapter 02 (00:02:51) Chapter 03 (00:04:15) Chapter 04 (00:05:26) Chapter 05 (00:06:48) Chapter 06 (00:08:16) Chapter 07 (00:09:43) Chapter 08 (00:11:01) Chapter 09 (00:12:16) Chapter 10 (00:13:56) Chapter 11 (00:15:12) Chapter 12 (00:16:38) Chapter 13 (00:17:52) Chapter 14 (00:19:09) Chapter 15 (00:20:34) Chapter 16 (00:21:52) Chapter 17 (00:23:20) Chapter 18 (00:24:38) Chapter 19 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

holy sonnets by john dunn sonnet one thou hast made me and shall thy work decay repair me now for now mine end doth haste i run to death and death meets me as fast and all my pleasures are like yesterday i dare not move my dim eyes any way despair behind and death before doth cast such terror and my feeble flesh doth waste by sin in it which it towards hell doth weigh only thou art above and when towards thee by thy leave i can look i rise again but our old subtle foe so tempteth me that not one hour myself i can sustain. Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art, and thou, like adamant, draw mine iron heart. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Sonnet 2 by John Dunn, read for Librevox.org, by Newgate Novelist. As due by many titles, I resign myself to thee, O God. First I was made by thee and for thee, and when I was decayed thy blood bought that, the witch before was thine. I am thy son, made with thyself to shine, thy servant, whose pains thou hast still repaid,

thy sheep, thine image, and, till I betrayed myself, a temple of thy spirit divine. Why doth the devil then usurp on me? Why doth he steal, nay, ravish, that's thy right, except thou rise and for thine own work the fight oh i shall soon despair when i do see that thou lovest mankind well yet wilt not choose me and satan hates me yet is loath to lose me end of poem this recording is in the public domain sonit three by john dunn read for librivox dot org by newgate novelist oh might those sighs and tears return again into my breast and eyes which i have spent that i might in this holy discontent mourn with some fruit as i have mourned in vain in mine idolatry what showers of rain mine did waste, what griefs my heart did rent. That sufferance was my sin. Now I repent, cause I did suffer, I must suffer pain. Thy droptic drunkard and night-scouting thief, the itchy lecher and self-tickling proud, have the remembrance of past joys for relief of

coming ills to poor me is allowed no ease for long yet vehement grief hath been with effect and calls the punishment and sin end of poem this recording is in the public domain sonit four by john dunn read for the bravox dot org banningate novelist oh my black soul now thou art thou art summoned by sickness, death's herald, and champion. Thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done treason, and dost not turn to whence he is fled, or like a thief, which till death's doom be read, wisheth himself delivered from prison, but damned and hailed to execution, wisheth it still he might be imprisoned. Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lack. But who shall give thee that grace to begin. Oh, make thyself with holy morning black, and red with blushing, as thou art with sin. Or wash thee in Christ's blood, which hath this might, for being red,

it dies red souls to white. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. am a little world made cunningly of elements and an angelic sprite but black sin hath betrayed to endless night my world's both parts and oh both parts must die you which beyond that heaven which was most high have found new spheres and of new lands can write poor new sees in mine eyes that so I might drown my world, with my weeping earnestly, or wash it if it must be drowned no more. But, oh, it must be burnt, alas, the fire of lust and envy have burnt it heretofore, and made it fowler. Let their flames retire, and burn me, O Lord, with a fiery zeal of thee and thy house, which doff in eating heal end of poem this recording is in the public domain sonit six by john dunn read for librivox dot org by newgate novelist this is my play's last scene here heaven's appoint my pilgrimages last mile and my race idly yet quickly run hath this last pace my

spans last inch, my minutes' latest point, and gluttonous death, will instantly unjoint my body and soul, and I shall sleep a space, but my ever-waking part shall see that face, whose fear already shakes my every joint. Then, as my soul, to heaven her first seat, takes flight, and earth-born body in the earth shall dwell. So, for my sins, that all may have their right, to wear their bread, and would press me to hell. Impute me righteous, thus purged of evil, for thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devil. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Sonnet 7 by John Dunn. Read for Librivox.org by Newgate Novelist. At the round earth's imagined corners,

Blow your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise from death, you numberless infinities of souls, and to your scattered bodies go, all whom the flood did and fire shallower throw, all whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies, despair, law, chance, hath slain, And you whose eyes shall behold God And never taste death's woe,

But let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn a space, For, if above all these, my sins abound, Tis late to ask abundance of thy grace, When we are there, here on this lowly ground teach me how to repent for that's as good as if thou hadst sealed my pardon with thy blood end of poem this recording is in the public domain sonitate by john dunn read for librivox dot org by newgate novelist if faithful souls be alike glorified as angels then my father's soul doth see, and adds this even to full felicity, that valiantly eye hell's wide mouth o'er stride. But if our minds to these souls be descried by circumstances, and by signs that be apparent in us,

not immediately, how shall my mind's white truth by them be tried? They see idolatrous lovers weep and more, and vile blasphemous conjurers to call on Jesus' name, and phariseical dissemblers feign devotion. Then turn, O pensive soul, to God, for he knows best thy true grief, for he put it in my breast. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Sonet 9 by John Dunn, read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. If poisonous minerals, and if that tree, whose fruit threw death on else immortal us, if lecherous goats, if serpents envious cannot be damned, alas, why should I be? Why should intent or reason, born in me, make sins, else equal, in me more heinous?

and mercy being easy and glorious to god in his stern wrath why threatens he but who am i that her dispute with thee o god o'er thine only worthy blood and my tears make a heavenly lethean flood and drown in it my sin's black memory that thou remember them some claimer's debt I think it mercy if thou wilt forget. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Sonnet 10 by John Dunn, read for Librivox.org by Newgate Novelist. Death, be not proud. Though some have called thee mighty and dreadful,

for thou art not so. For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow. Die not, poor death, Nor yet canst thou kill me, From rest and sleep, Which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure, then, from thee, Much more must flow.

And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery. Thou art slave to faith, Eight, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well, And better than lie-stroke, Why swell'st thou then? One short sleep past, We wake eternally, And death shall be no more, Death,

thou shalt die end of poem this recording is in the public domain sonnit eleven by john dunn read for librivox dot org by newgate novelist spit in my face you jews and pierce my side buffet and scoff scourge and crucify me for i have sinned and sinned and only he who could do no iniquity half died but by my death cannot be satisfied my sins which pass the jews impiety they killed once an inglorious man but i crucify him daily being now glorified oh let me then his strange love still admire king's pardon but he bore her punishment and jacob came clothed in vile harsh attire but to supplant and with gainful intent God clothed himself in vile man's flesh, that so he might be weak enough to suffer woe. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Sonet 12 by John Dunn, read for Librivox.org by Newgate Novelist.

Why are we by all creatures waited on? Why do the prodigal elements supply life and food to me? being more pure than i simple and further from corruption why brookest thou ignorant horse subjection why dost thou bull and bore so ceilily dissemble weakness and by one man's stroke die whose whole kind you might swallow and feed upon weaker i am woe is me and worse than you you have not sinned nor need be timorous but wonder at a greater wonder for to us created nature doth these things subdue but their creator whom sin nor nature tied for us his creatures and his foes hath died. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Sonnet 13 by John Dunn, read for Librivox.org by Newgate novelist. What if this present were the world's last night?

Fuck in my heart, oh soul, where thou dost dwell, the picture of Christ crucified, and tell whether that countenance can knee a fright. Tears in his eyes quench the amazing light, blood fills his frowns, which from his pierced head fell. And can that tongue adjudge the unto hell, which prayed forgiveness for his foe's fierce spite? No, no, but as in my idolatry I said to all my profane mistresses, beauty of pity, foulness only is a sign of rigor. So I say to thee, to wicked spirits or horrid shapes assigned, this beauteous form assures a piteous mind. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Sonit 14 by John Dunn, read for thebrovox.org by Newgate Novelist.

to my heart three-personed god for her you as yet but knock breathe shine and seek to mend that i may rise and stand or throw me and bend your force to break blow burn and make me new i like an usuped town to another due labour to admit you but o to no end reason your viceroy and me me should defend but is cap'ry and me should defend but is cap'y captived and proves weak or untrue. Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain, but am betrothed unto your enemy. Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again. Take me to you, imprison me, for I, except you enthrall me, never shall be free, nor ever chaste, except you ravish me. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Sonnet 15 by John Dunn, read for Librevox.org, by Newgate Novelist. Will thou love God as he, thee?

Then digest, my soul, this wholesome meditation. How God the spirit by angels waited on in heaven doth make his temple in thy breast, the father having begot a son most blessed, and still begetting, for he ne'er begun, Hath deigned to choose thee by adoption, Coer to his glory, And Sabbath's endless rest. And as a robbed man,

Which by search doth find his stolen stuff sold, Must lose or buy it again. The son of glory came down, And was slain, Us whom he had made, And Satan stolen, to unbind. T'was much that man was made like God before,

but that God should be made like man much more. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Sonnet 16 by John Dunn, read for Librivox.org by Newgate Novelist. Father, part of his double interest, unto thy kingdom, thy son gives to me. His jointer in the naughty trinity he keeps, and gives to me his death's conquest. This lamb, whose death, with life the world hath blessed, was from the world's beginning slain,

and he hath made two wills, which with the legacy of his and thy kingdom do thy sons invest. yet such are thy laws that men argue yet whether a man no statutes can fulfil none doth but all healing grace and spirit revive again what law and let her kill thy laws abridgment and thy last command is all but love oh let this last will stand end of poem this recording is in the public domain. Sonnet 17 by John Dunn, read for thebrovox.org by Newgate Novelist. Since she whom I loved hath paid her last debt to nature and to hers, and my good is dead, and her soul early into heaven ravished, wholly on heavenly things my mind is set. Hear the admiring her my mind did wet to seek thee God.

So streams do show their head. But though I have found thee, and thou my thirst hast fed, A holy thirsty dropsy melts me yet. But why should I beg more love, When as thou dost woo my soul for hers, Offering all thine, and dost not only fear lest I allow my love to saints and angels, things divine, put in thy tender jealousy dost doubt, lest the world, flesh, yea, devil, put thee out.

End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Sonit 18 by John Dunn, read for Librevox.org by Newgate Novelist. Show me, dear Christ, thy spouse, so bright and clear. What? Is it she, which on the other shore goes richly painted, Or which robbed and tore, laments and mourns in Germany and here? Sleeps she a thousand, then peeps up one year? Is she self-truth and hers?

Now new, now out war? Doth she and did she, and shall she ever more, on one, on seven, or on no hill appear. Dwell she with us, or like adventuring nights, first travail we to seek and then make love? Betray, kind husband, thy spouse to our sights, and let mine amorous soul caught thy mild dove, who is most true, and pleasing to thee, then when she is embraced and open to most men. End of poem. this recording is in the public domain. Sonnet 19 by John Dunn, read for Librevox.org, my newgate novelist.

Oh, to vex me, contrary's meet in one. In constancy, unnaturally hath begot a constant habit, that when I would not, I change in vows, and in devotion. As humorous is my contrition, as my profane love, and I soon forgot, as riddlingly distemper, as riddlingly distemper, cold and hot, as praying, as mute, as infinite, as none. I durst not view heaven yesterday, and today, in prayers and flattering speeches, I caught God. Tomorrow I quake with true fear of his rod. So my devout fits come and go away, like a fantastic ague, save that here, Those are my best days When I shake with fear

End of poem This recording is in the public domain And End of The Holy Sonnets by John Dunn Thank you for listening