The mystic's postulate--if we could know ourselves, we should
know all--is often on Donne's lips, as for instance in that curious poem
written in memory of Elizabeth Drury, on the second anniversary of her
death. It is perhaps best expressed in the following verse:
But we know our selves least; Mere outward shews
Our mindes so store,
That our soules, no more than our eyes disclose
But forme and colour. Onely he who knowes
Himselfe, knowes more.
_Ode: Of our Sense of Sinne._
One of the marked characteristics of Donne's poetry is his continual
comparison of mental and spiritual with, physical processes. This sense
of analogy prevailing throughout nature is with him very strong. The
mystery of continual flux and change particularly attracts him, as it
did the Buddhists[28] and the early Greek thinkers, and Nettleship's
remarks about the nature of bread and unselfishness are akin to the
following comparison:--
Dost thou love
Beauty? (And beauty worthy'st is to move)
Poor cousened consener, _that_ she, and _that_ thou,
Which did begin to love, are neither now;
Next day repaires (but ill) last dayes decay.
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