This poem (below), The Broken Heart by John Donne is one of my favorites! Written in Sonnet form of ABABCCDD, John Donne’s poetry greatly resembles that of Shakespeare’s.

I first came across this poem my senior year of high school in English class. As an angst-y teenager, it spoke to me and offered me a new cynical outlook on love and life. Since, I’ve grown to form my own opinions on the matter, and to appreciate the poem more objectively.

The first thing, anyone notices in analyzing the poem is the ample use of imagery. “By him, as by chain'd shot, whole ranks do die ; He is the tyrant pike, our hearts the fry” (Donne). This is my favorite line. Donne offers brilliant and dark pictures of how love destroys. If imagining two cannon balls chained together, killing everyone in their path is not enough to turn you off, imagine, then that ugly fish, the pike ripping a tiny minnow to shreds. Lovely isn’t it?

It is a fair assumption to say that whatever heart break Donne was going through was recent and messy. He’s not at a state in his healing where he can rationally deal with the emotions going through his head. He tries to reason through the recent events in his last two stanzas. He talks about how he had a whole heart before meeting this woman, and after departing found that there was something missing. He reasons that if he had actually given her his heart, his heart would have been able to teach hers about love and compassion, but seeing that this is not the case, Donne decides that this woman simply shattered his heart (maliciously, I assume). Obviously, this isn’t rational, but it is how John Donne chooses to reason through his emotion.

I’ve always been a dreamer, myself and I am saddened by the heartbreak in the world and children growing up too fast, but I maintain that a healthy dose of cynicism keeps you grounded and prevents greater heartbreak later. Perhaps this poem takes that philosophy to the extreme – “…after one such love, will love no more” – but I feel Donne’s idea of a heart scarring every time it is broken is pretty accurate. One may have lost a love, but the wounds they wear are only proof that they have been strong enough to make themselves vulnerable for someone they cared about. A new scar, a newly lost love. This is not the death of your heart, per say, but there is always a reminder of what once was. And one must use it as a means to move forward. (If that makes sense)

The Broken Heart by John Donne is a beautiful poem excellently composed. It is simple, I know, but the amble use of imagery and emotional context make it one of my favorite poems to read. I feel very connected to the poem (even past my more angst-y years) and hope that you enjoy it as well.

THE BROKEN HEART.

by John Donne

He is stark mad, whoever says,

That he hath been in love an hour,

Yet not that love so soon decays,

But that it can ten in less space devour ;

Who will believe me, if I swear

That I have had the plague a year?

Who would not laugh at me, if I should say

I saw a flash of powder burn a day?

Ah, what a trifle is a heart,

If once into love's hands it come !

All other griefs allow a part

To other griefs, and ask themselves but some ;

They come to us, but us love draws ;

He swallows us and never chaws ;

By him, as by chain'd shot, whole ranks do die ;

He is the tyrant pike, our hearts the fry.

If 'twere not so, what did become

Of my heart when I first saw thee?

I brought a heart into the room,

But from the room I carried none with me.

If it had gone to thee, I know

Mine would have taught thine heart to show

More pity unto me ; but Love, alas !

At one first blow did shiver it as glass.

Yet nothing can to nothing fall,

Nor any place be empty quite ;

Therefore I think my breast hath all

Those pieces still, though they be not unite ;

And now, as broken glasses show

A hundred lesser faces, so

My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore,

But after one such love, can love no more.