Donne, the delight of Phoebus and each Muse <br /> Who, to thy one, all other brains refuse; <br /> Whose every work of thy most early wit <br /> Came forth example, and remains so yet; <br /> Longer a-knowing than most wits do live; <br /> And which no affection praise enough can give! <br /> To it, thy language, letters, arts, best life, <br /> Which might with half mankind maintain a strife. <br /> All which I meant to praise, and yet I would; <br /> But leave, because I cannot as I should!<br /><br />Benjamin Jonson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-john-donne/
