John Donne

The Good-Morrow

I WONDER by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved? were we not wean'd till then?
But suck'd on country pleasures, childishly?

Seven Sleepers' den

Christian legend of seven youths who slept in a cave for 200 years fleeing persecution. Donne's asking: were we basically unconscious before we met?

Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den?
'Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be;
If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.
And now good-morrow to our waking souls,
Which watch not one another out of fear;

watch not...out of fear

Not surveillance—they don't stay awake monitoring each other for betrayal. The relationship has no jealousy or suspicion.

For love all love of other sights controls,

one little room an everywhere

Written during the Age of Exploration. While others need continents, their bedroom contains the whole world. Love vs. empire.

And makes one little room an everywhere.
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone;
Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown;
Let us possess one world; each hath one, and is one.
My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;
Where can we find two better hemispheres

two better hemispheres

Each lover is a hemisphere; together they make a complete world. Unlike Earth, their world has no frozen north or dying west (sunset).

Without sharp north, without declining west?

not mix'd equally

Alchemy/medicine theory: things decay when their elements are unbalanced. If their loves are perfectly balanced, they can't die.

Whatever dies, was not mix'd equally;
If our two loves be one, or thou and I
Love so alike that none can slacken, none can die.
Source Wikipedia Poetry Foundation

Reading Notes

Waking Up to Real Life

The poem opens with retrospective shock—the speaker can't believe what passed for living before this relationship. The first stanza uses three metaphors for their pre-love existence: infants still nursing ("suck'd on country pleasures"), sleepers in a cave, and people chasing fantasies. Each image suggests unconsciousness or immaturity.

The Seven Sleepers reference is crucial context. In Christian legend, seven young men fleeing Roman persecution fell asleep in a cave and woke 200 years later. Donne borrows this: the lovers have awakened into a completely different world. "Good-morrow" means good morning—they're greeting each other as newly conscious beings.

Notice the argument structure: "I wonder... were we not... Or snorted we... 'Twas so." He asks, answers himself, then confirms. This isn't a question—it's a rhetorical performance of amazement. The final couplet of the stanza dismisses all previous experiences as mere "dream[s]" of the beloved, rehearsals for the real thing.

Exploration and the Perfect World

Donne wrote this around 1600, during England's imperial expansion. The second and third stanzas are anti-exploration poems—they argue against the era's obsession with discovering and mapping new territories.

Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone;
Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown;

The syntax is crucial: "Let" them have their discoveries. We don't need them. While explorers sail to the Americas and cartographers draw new continents ("worlds on worlds"), the lovers "possess one world" in their room. This is Donne's signature move—taking the era's biggest public excitement and saying intimate love is bigger.

The final stanza makes them into a perfect globe. Each lover is a hemisphere; their faces reflect in each other's eyes, creating a complete world. But unlike Earth, their world has "no sharp north" (no frozen pole) and "no declining west" (no sunset, no decay). It's an ideal sphere that geography can't match.

The closing argument uses alchemy: substances decay when their elements aren't balanced. If their two loves are perfectly equal—"mix'd equally"—they form a stable compound that "none can die." It's a logical proof of immortality through symmetrical love. Notice Donne doesn't say "our love won't die"—he says it *can't*, given the premises. The poem ends on scientific certainty, not romantic hope.