Settings of two poems from the Metaphysical Poets book, both by John Donne. Quick recordings, you know the drill.

The first one I was basically trying to write The Skye Boat Song or The Parting Glass, just a really pretty folk-type tune, you know?

Sweete love, I do not goe,  
 For wearinesse of thee,  
Nor in hope the world can show  
 A fitter Love for mee;  
   But since that I         
Must dye at last, ‘tis best,  
To use my selfe in jest  
 Thus by fain’d deaths to dye;

Yesternight the Sunne went hence,  
 And yet is here to day,  
He hath no desire nor sense,
 Nor halfe so short a way:  
   Then feare not mee,  
But beleeve that I shall make  
Speedier journeyes, since I take  
 More wings and spurres then hee.

O how feeble is mans power  
 That if good fortune fall,  
Cannot adde another houre,
 Nor a lost houre recall!  
   But come bad chance,  
And wee joyne to'it our strength,  
And wee teach it art and length,  
 It selfe o'r us to'advance.

When thou sigh'st, thou sigh'st not winde,  
 But sigh'st my soule away,  
When thou weep'st, unkindly kinde,  
 My lifes blood doth decay.  
   It cannot bee  
That thou lov'st mee, as thou say'st,  
If in thine my life thou waste,  
 Thou art the best of mee.

Let not thy divining heart  
 Forethinke me any ill,  
Destiny may take thy part,  
 And may thy feares fulfill;  
   But thinke that wee  
Are but turn’d aside to sleepe;  
They who one another keepe  
 Alive, ne'r parted bee.

There’s a line in Howl’s Moving Castle which I feel like is Wynne Jones directly getting at Donne for his TERRIBLE SCANSION in another ‘Song’ —

“Then I’ll start with the second verse,” Miss Angorian said, “since you have the first verse there in your hand.” She read very well, not only melodiously, but in a way which made the second verse fit the rhythm of the first, which in Sophie’s opinion it did not do at all.

— similar problems here; what is going on the end of the second verse with the syllables and stresses? I know normally it’s my fault for starting with an odd verse and then realising nothing else quite fits that, but this time it really is that one second verse is odd. Anyway, hence some slight alterations.

And now a fabulously bitter break-up / heart break lyric!

Send home my long stray’d eyes to mee,  
Which Oh too long have dwelt on thee;  
Yet since there they have learn’d such ill,  
   Such forc’d fashions,  
   And false passions,          
       That they be  
       Made by thee  
Fit for no good sight, keep them still.

Send home my harmlesse heart againe,  
Which no unworthy thought could staine;   
But if it be taught by thine  
   To make jestings  
   Of protestings,  
       And crosse both  
       Word and oath,   
Keepe it, for then ‘tis none of mine.

Yet send me back my heart and eyes,  
That I may know, and see thy lyes,  
And may laugh and joy, when thou  
   Art in anguish   
   And dost languish  
       For some one  
       That will none,  
Or prove as false as thou art now.