Donne pictures himself as a tiny cosmos: a body built from the four elements and a soul, an "angelic sprite." But sin has turned this little world into a place of darkness, and both parts face death. He cries out to explorers of new heavens—perhaps astronomers or angels—to pour oceans into his eyes so he can weep enough to drown his corrupted world. Then, mid-prayer, he recoils. Flooding won't work. His world has already been scorched by the fire of lust and envy, making it even filthier. So he changes his plea, asking God to let those shameful flames die down and instead set him ablaze with a holy, consuming passion for God's house. The final line holds the paradox: this divine fire eats away sin but somehow heals. The mood is urgent and volatile, swinging from sorrow to a fierce, almost desperate longing for a pain that purifies.
Holy Sonnet V: I Am A Little World Made Cunningly — Summary
I am a little world made cunningly Of elements, and an angelic sprite; But black sin hath betrayed to endless night My worlds both parts, and (oh!) both parts must die. You which beyond that heaven which was most high Have found new spheres, and of new lands can write, Pour new seas in mine eyes, that so I might Drown my world with my weeping earnestly, Or wash it if it must be drowned no more: But oh it must be burnt! alas the fire Of lust and envy have burnt it heretofore, And made it fouler: Let their flames retire, And burn me, O Lord, with a fiery zeal Of Thee and Thy house, which doth in eating heal.