The speaker of "The Sun Rising" is a relaxed man who has what he desires, feeling irritated by the world's interruptions. He starts with an insult — "Busie old foole, unruly Sunne" — and concludes with a hint of pity for the sun, which now has a lesser role since warming this bed is enough to warm the entire world.
The speaker of "The Flea" is a man feeling the heat. He’s improvising on the spot, and the poem’s three stanzas reflect his changing strategies: starting with an opening move, then asking to save the flea, and finally reacting after the flea is gone. His charm comes from his constant motion.
"The Sun Rising" consists of three ten-line stanzas that follow an ABABCDCDEE rhyme scheme. The line lengths vary significantly; the shorter second and fourth lines in each stanza create a brief pause before the argument picks up speed again. This structure gives the impression of a man confidently thinking out loud.
"The Flea" features three nine-line stanzas that rhyme AABBCCDDD. This pattern pairs the rhymes closely before the final triplet delivers a decisive punch. Each triplet at the end of the stanzas provides the speaker with a chance to land his punchline, and Donne makes full use of all three.
The sun drives the poem and serves as its target. Donne dismantles its authority stanza by stanza: at first, it’s a meddling bureaucrat, then something that can be eclipsed with just a wink, and finally, it becomes a servant tasked only with warming two people in bed. The imagery shifts from the cosmic to the domestic.
The flea does something even stranger: it begins as proof and transforms into a symbol. In the first stanza, it’s a biological fact — it has mingled their blood. By the second stanza, it represents a marriage bed and a temple. In the third stanza, it becomes a murder victim. The flea's significance shifts continually because the speaker requires it to signify something different each time.
The final couplet of "The Sun Rising" feels more like an invitation than a demand: "Shine here to us, and thou art every where; / This bed thy center is, these walls, thy spheare." The speaker has essentially redefined the universe, placing the sun's role as merely lighting up his bedroom. It's both a triumphant and somewhat absurd notion, and Donne is well aware of this.
The closing couplet of "The Flea" is a trap set for the woman: "Just so much honor, when thou yeeld'st to mee, / Will wast, as this flea's death tooke life from thee." When she kills the flea, she loses nothing; thus, the speaker contends, she won't lose anything by giving in to him. This argument is logically flawed yet rhetorically clever, and Donne is fully aware of that.