John Donne (1572–1631)

D

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

F

Father, part of his double interest

G

Go and catch a falling star

I

I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I

In what torn ship soever I embark

O

Oh my black soul! now art thou summoned

S

She’s dead; and all which die

Some man unworthy to be possessor

W

Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun