The Flea (by John Donne)

Here we come to the sexy side of poetry, wherein even vicars can beg for sex with nothing but the 17th century poetic equivelant of the "C'mooooooooon" argument.

"Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is ;
It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.
Thou know'st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead ;
Yet this enjoys before it woo,
And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two ;
And this, alas ! is more than we would do.

O stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, yea, more than married are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is.
Though parents grudge, and you, we're met,
And cloister'd in these living walls of jet.
Though use make you apt to kill me,
Let not to that self-murder added be,
And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it suck'd from thee?
Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou
Find'st not thyself nor me the weaker now.
'Tis true ; then learn how false fears be ;
Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me,
Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee."

This poem is a sly little devil, innit? As I said earlier, it can be distilled into a very simple and rather crass come-on; "Our bodily fluids have already been mixed inside the fleas hopping around your bed, so why not make it fun?" Cue the Marvin Gaye.

Compared to some of the other carpe diem poems I've had to read recently, this is by far my favourite. It is the best written, and the whole idea of being "more than married" to someone because a flea sucked blood from both of you has got to be the weirdest (and funniest) way to justify premarital sex I've ever heard. In particular I like the lines "Yet this enjoys before it woo/And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two ;/And this, alas ! is more than we would do" and "Cruel and sudden, hast thou since/Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?/Wherein could this flea guilty be,/Except in that drop which it suck'd from thee?" They sound great, and MAN, talk about your (bizarre) guilt trip.

Actually, what I like best about this poem (and Donne's other stuff) is the way it sounds. The guy had a real knack for finding rhymes and words that don't sound awkward, as well as letting the poetry flow in a very natural and pretty-sounding way. The word "purpled" is a prime example. Go on, say it. Purpled. Doesn't it just sound cool?

Though I like this particular poem, I'll admit I'm not a big fan of carpe diem poems beyond their--unintentional in most cases--comedic value. After all, there's only so many times you can say "sleep with me while you're still young and hot" before it becomes old hat.