Certainly in his case much knowledge reveals itself in the association of his ideas, and great facility in the management and utterance of them.

True likewise, he says nothing unrelated to the main idea of the poem; but not the less certainly does the whole resemble the speech of a child of active imagination, to whom judgment as to the character of his suggestions is impossible, his taste being equally gratified with a lovely image and a brilliant absurdity: a butterfly and a shining potsherd are to him similarly desirable.

Whatever wild thing starts from the thicket of thought, all is worthy game to the hunting intellect of Dr.Donne, and is followed without question of tone, keeping, or harmony.

In his play with words, Sir Philip Sidney kept good heed that even that should serve the end in view; in his play with ideas, Dr.John Donne, so far from serving the end, sometimes obscures it almost hopelessly: the hart escapes while he follows the squirrels and weasels and bats.

It is not surprising that, their author being so inartistic with regard to their object, his verses themselves should be harsh and unmusical beyond the worst that one would imagine fit to be called verse.
He enjoys the unenviable distinction of having no rival in ruggedness of metric movement and associated sounds.