Good Friday, 1613: Riding Westward               by John Donne Let mans Soule be a Spheare, and then, in this, The intelligence that moves, devotion is, And as the other Spheares, by being growne Subject to forraigne motions, lose their owne, And being, by others hurried every day, Scarce in a yeare … Continue reading Poetry Good Friday: Donne, Of Course