Despite the government’s generous offer of an extra hour of sleep, my body was wide awake at 3 am (4 am) as it is used to. So I got up, made my coffee and waited to say good morning to the sun.
It was a spectacular unveiling this morning. Such an explosion of color coming up from behind the trees. There is always, always this rush of hope that floods over me every sunrise. A feeling of newness I refuse to sleep through.
I was immediately reminded of this poem, ‘The Sun Rising’ by John Donne. Sometimes the title is shown in the original spelling – ‘The Sunne Rising.’
A beautifully sassy and romantic piece to me. I love the male voice telling the sun to go shine on the boys who are late for school or tell the ants to get busy – because he and his lover do not answer to time. How beautiful is that?
But my favorite lines are the last two – telling the sun if it shines on their bed, it shines on everything. For they are everything. Holy shit that’s good!!!! Happy Sunday, earthlings.
“Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;
This bed thy center is, these walls, thy sphere.”
The Sun Rising by John Donne
Busy old fool, unruly sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains call on us?
Must to thy motions lovers’ seasons run?
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Late school boys and sour prentices,
Go tell court huntsmen that the king will ride,
Call country ants to harvest offices,
Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
Thy beams, so reverend and strong
Why shouldst thou think?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,
But that I would not lose her sight so long;
If her eyes have not blinded thine,
Look, and tomorrow late, tell me,
Whether both th’ Indias of spice and mine
Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with me.
Ask for those kings whom thou saw’st yesterday,
And thou shalt hear, All here in one bed lay.
She’s all states, and all princes, I,
Nothing else is.
Princes do but play us; compared to this,
All honor’s mimic, all wealth alchemy.
Thou, sun, art half as happy as we,
In that the world’s contracted thus.
Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
To warm the world, that’s done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;
This bed thy center is, these walls, thy sphere.