poem

The Prohibition — Jul 21, 2026

John Donne

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Take heed of loving me;
At least remember I forbade it thee;
Not that I shall repair my unthrifty waste
Of breath and blood, upon thy sighs and tears,
By being to thee then what to me thou wast;
But so great joy our life at once outwears;
Then, lest thy love by my death frustrate be,
If thou love me, take heed of loving me.

Take heed of hating me,
Or too much triumph in the victory;
Not that I shall be mine own officer,
And hate with hate again retaliate;
But thou wilt lose the style of conqueror
If I, thy conquest, perish by thy hate;
Then, lest my being nothing lessen thee,
If thou hate me, take heed of hating me.

Yet, love and hate me too;
So, these extremes shall neither's office do;
Love me, that I may die the gentler way;
Hate me, because thy love is too great for me;
Or let these two themselves, not me, decay;
So shall I live thy stage, not triumph be;
Lest thou thy love and hate and me undo,
To let me live, O love and hate me too.

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📖 About this poem

Donne builds this poem like a paradox machine. He begs a woman not to love him, then not to hate him, then finally to do both at once — because either extreme, taken alone, would be fatal to him and to her sense of triumph over him. It's less a love poem than an argument, delivered with the cool precision of a lawyer who happens to be heartsick. The music helps sell the logic: each stanza tightens into a closing couplet that snaps shut like a proof completed, and the steady pulse of iambic lines makes the reasoning feel inevitable rather than clever for its own sake. The strongest image is the last one, of Donne asking to live as "thy stage, not triumph" — a man begging to remain the ongoing performance of someone's feeling rather than a finished victory. It still lands because anyone who's loved messily knows this exact wish: don't let this end, even if ending it would be the honest thing to do.

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