John Donne and Sanctuary

[icarus_chained]

People having been talking to me about poetry all day, for some reason. War poetry, Sassoon, Wilfred Owen. And me at other people. Donne. Hopkins. So, perhaps naturally, I reread a few of my favourites. And this ... This is Holy Sonnet I, by John Donne. It's my favourite of his sonnets, for the sheer desperation and adoration in it:

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

... Only, reading over it, which I haven't done in a while, and with Sanctuary on the brain ... Is that not John, towards Helen? Because she made him, made all of them, with the Blood, and he came to her to be repaired, and the most human he ever is, the most risen, is when he looks at her. Death before ... not only his, but those on the ends of his knives. And the Subtle Foe, crackling inside him ...

I wonder if John's read Donne. *muses*