The Metaphysical Argument: Love as Theology

Donne doesn't write about love—he prosecutes a case for it. The poem's structure is legal and logical, not lyrical: thesis (let me love), counterargument (who does it harm?), proof (we become something transcendent), conclusion (we deserve canonization). This is characteristic of Metaphysical poetry, which treats abstract ideas like mathematical problems to be solved through wit and paradox.

The title itself signals theology: canonization is the Catholic process of declaring someone a saint. Donne applies this religious framework to lovers, suggesting that their mutual love creates a sacred state. Notice that he doesn't ask for permission to feel—he asks for permission to *act* on love without interference. The poem is fundamentally about social permission, not emotional validation.

[CONTEXT: Donne wrote this early in his career, before his secret marriage to Anne More nearly ruined him. The poem's defensive tone reflects real social stakes—marrying for love rather than advantage was considered irresponsible.]

The Compression of Contraries

Metaphysical poetry thrives on yoking together opposites: the lovers are simultaneously flies and eagles, tapers that burn themselves, phoenixes that die and rise. This isn't flowery language—it's Donne's method for proving that love transcends normal logic. By containing contradictions, the lovers become 'mysterious,' which in 17th-century terms means spiritually profound.

The most important compression is the phoenix riddle: 'we two being one, are it.' The phoenix is singular and self-renewing. Two people becoming one entity that is also singular—this is the mathematical proof that their love achieves something impossible in ordinary terms. Donne uses the conceit (an extended, elaborate metaphor) to make the abstract concrete: love isn't a feeling, it's a transformation that rewrites the rules of identity.

Notice how the poem moves from defending against criticism to actually *elevating* the lovers. By stanza four, they're no longer trying to justify themselves—they're planning their own canonization. The shift is crucial: once Donne proves love harms no one, he can argue it deserves veneration.

John Donne

The Canonization

Defensive opening

Donne begins by shutting down criticism before it starts. The imperative 'hold your tongue' frames love not as romantic but as an act requiring permission—he's already anticipating judgment.

FOR God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love;

{{gap|1em}}Or chide my palsy, or my gout;

{{gap|1em}}My five gray hairs, or ruin'd fortune flout;

With wealth your state, your mind with arts improve;

{{gap|2em}}Take you a course, get you a place,

{{gap|2em}}Observe his Honour, or his Grace;

Or the king's real, or his stamp'd face

{{gap|1em}}Contemplate; what you will, approve,

{{gap|1em}}So you will let me love.

Alas! alas! who's injured by my love?

{{gap|1em}}What merchant's ships have my sighs drown'd?

{{gap|1em}}Who says my tears have overflow'd his ground?

When did my colds a forward spring remove?

{{gap|2em}}When did the heats which my veins fill

{{gap|2em}}Add one more to the plaguy bill?

Soldiers find wars, and lawyers find out still

{{gap|1em}}Litigious men, which quarrels move,

{{gap|1em}}Though she and I do love.

Call's what you will, we are made such by love;

{{gap|1em}}Call her one, me another fly,

{{gap|1em}}We're tapers too, and at our own cost die,

And we in us find th' eagle and the dove.

{{gap|2em}}The phoenix riddle hath more wit

{{gap|2em}}By us; we two being one, are it;

So, to one neutral thing both sexes fit.

{{gap|1em}}We die and rise the same, and prove

{{gap|1em}}Mysterious by this love.

We can die by it, if not live by love,

{{gap|1em}}And if unfit for tomb or hearse

{{gap|1em}}Our legend be, it will be fit for verse;

And if no piece of chronicle we prove,

Poetry as legacy

Donne shifts from defense to transformation: if they can't be buried like the great, they'll be 'canonized' through verse instead. 'Well-wrought urn' compares a perfect poem to a perfect tomb—both preserve what matters.

{{gap|2em}}We'll build in sonnets pretty rooms;

{{gap|2em}}As well a well-wrought urn becomes

The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs,

{{gap|1em}}And by these hymns, all shall approve

{{gap|1em}}Us canonized for love;

And thus invoke us, "You, whom reverend love

{{gap|1em}}Made one another's hermitage;

{{gap|1em}}You, to whom love was peace, that now is rage;

Eyes as microcosm

The final stanza's 'glasses of your eyes' and 'mirrors' and 'spies' aren't just romantic—they're metaphysical. Lovers' eyes contain and reflect the entire world, making them sacred objects worthy of veneration.

Who did the whole world's soul contract, and drove

{{gap|2em}}Into the glasses of your eyes;

{{gap|2em}}So made such mirrors, and such spies,

That they did all to you epitomize—

{{gap|1em}}Countries, towns, courts beg from above

{{gap|1em}}A pattern of your love."

Source Wikipedia Poetry Foundation