poem

The Prohibition, Nov 8, 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 logical trap, and that's the pleasure of it. He asks his lover for the impossible: don't love me too much, don't hate me too much, actually, do both, in careful proportion, so I survive. Each stanza works like a mini-argument, complete with reasons, almost legalistic, yet the feeling underneath is anything but cold. The music helps sell the paradox — short opening lines snap into longer, winding ones, mimicking a mind turning an idea over before it settles.

The best image comes late: Donne asking to live as his lover's "stage, not triumph," a small, strange picture of being endlessly performed upon rather than finally conquered. It captures something true about intense relationships — the fear that too much devotion or too much anger could equally finish a person off. That tension between wanting to be loved fiercely and fearing what fierce feeling costs still feels recognizable, centuries later.