The Triple Fool - John Donne

I am two fools, I know,
For loving, and for saying so
In whining poetry ;
But where's that wise man, that would not
be I,
If she would not deny ?
Then as th' earth's inward narrow crooked
lanes
Do purge sea water's fretful salt away,
I thought, if I could draw my pains
Through rhyme's vexation, I should
them allay.
Grief brought to numbers cannot be so
fierce,
For he tames it, that fetters it in verse.

But when I have done so,
Some man, his art and voice to show,
Doth set and sing my pain ;
And, by delighting many, frees again
Grief, which verse did restrain.
To love and grief tribute of verse belongs,
But not of such as pleases when 'tis
read.
Both are increasèd by such songs,
For both their triumphs so are published,
And I, which was two fools, do so grow
three.
Who are a little wise, the best fools be.

- I've known this poem for years and still get a little confused by it. He is one fool for loving her, twice a fool for saying so...thirdly for writing a poem about it. I like the irony that the fools are a little wise in the end. Maybe they are wise because they KNOW they are fools...