"BUSY old fool, unruly Sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains, call on us?
Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Late school-boys and sour prentices,
Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,
Call country ants to harvest offices;
Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

Thy beams so reverend, and strong
Why shouldst thou think?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,
But that I would not lose her sight so long.
If her eyes have not blinded thine,
Look, and to-morrow late tell me,
Whether both th' Indias of spice and mine
Be where thou left'st them, or lie here with me.
Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,
And thou shalt hear, "All here in one bed lay."

She's all states, and all princes I;
Nothing else is;
Princes do but play us; compared to this,
All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy.
Thou, Sun, art half as happy as we,
In that the world's contracted thus;
Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
To warm the world, that's done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;
This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere."

The speaker of this piece is irritated that his canoodling time with his gf is interrupted. So he promptly addresses and dismisses the sun. Seriously, dude, they're busy. Busy getting busy, that is.

Pretty brave to say "nah, no thanks," to the sun, huh? That's the English Renaissance for you: bold to the last drop.

This poem encapsulates the Renaissance notion that anything and anybody can be a world unto itself or himself. In this case, the speaker and his love comprise "all states, and all princes." Since the sun's one job is to warm the world—in this case, the speaker and his amour—he can rest easy.

His job is done. Lovers are always warm, basking in each other's glow. So stop bothering these two cuties, okay, Mister Sun? 

Poems or songs written at dawn are called aubades. And Donne's love verses here play on the intrusion of the sun into a romantic moment. The speaker addresses the sun directly with an apostrophe, and then goes into a conceit of the two lovers as the entire world.

Donne does this calling-out-and-talking-to-things a lot; he loves his apostrophes. They really are attention grabbers… which is good news when you're talking to the sun. And clever and unexpected metaphors—you know, conceits—well, they're just like metaphors who've drunk a truck full o' Red Bull.

They give you wings.