Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PREPAPATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: 37, by EDWARD TAYLOR


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PREPAPATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: 37, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: My soule, lord, quailes to thinke that I should bee
Last Line: Then I shall in a better temper bee.
Subject(s): Puritans In Literature


My Soule, Lord, quailes to thinke that I should bee
So high related, have such colours faire
Stick in my Hat, from Heaven: yet should see
My Soule thus blotcht: Hells Liveries to beare.
What Thine? New-naturizd? Yet this Relation
Thus barren, though't 's a Priviledg-Foundation?

Shall I thy Vine branch be, yet grapes none beare?
Grafft in thy Olive stand: and fatness lack?
A Shackeroon, a Ragnell, yet an Heire?
Thy spouse, yet, oh! my Wedden Ring thus slack?
Should Angel-Feathers plume my Cap, I should
Be swash? but oh! my Heart hereat grows Cold.

What is my Title but an empty Claim?
Am I a fading Flower within thy Knot?
A Rattle, or a gilded Box, a Flame
Of Painted Fire, a glorious Weedy Spot?
The Channell ope of Union, the ground
Of Wealth, Relation: yet I'me barren found?

What am I thine, and thou not mine? or dost
Not thou thy Spouse joyn in thy Glory Cleare?
Is my Relation to thee but a boast?
Or but a blustring say-so, or spruice jeere?
Should Roses blow more late, sure I might get,
If thine, some Prim-Rose or sweet Violet?

Make me thy Branch to bare thy Grapes, Lord, feed
Mee with thy bunch of Raisins of the Sun.
Mee stay with apples; let me eate indeed
Fruits of the tree of Life: its richly hung.
Am I thy Child, Son, Heir, thy Spouse, yet gain
Not of the Rights that these Relations claim?

Am I hop't on thy knees, yet not at ease?
Sunke in thy bosom, yet thy Heart not meet?
Lodgd in thine Arms? yet all things little please?
Sung sweetly, yet finde not this singing sweet?
Set at thy Table, yet scarce tast a Dish
Delicious? Hugd, yet seldom gain a Kiss?

Why? Lord, why thus? Shall I in Question Call
All my Relation to thyselfe? I know
It is no Gay to please a Child withall
But is the Ground whence Priviledges flow.
Then ope the sluce: let some thing spoute on me.
Then I shall in a better temper bee.





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