(SENT BY GEORGE HERBERT TO HIS MOTHER AS A NEW YEAR'S GIFT FROM CAMBRIDGE) MY God, where is that ancient heat towards thee Wherewith whole shoals of martyrs once did burn, Besides their other flames? Doth poetrie Wear Venus' liverie? onely serve her turn? Why are not sonnets made of thee? and layes Upon thine altar burnt? Cannot thy love Heighten a spirit to sound out thy praise As well as any she? Cannot thy Dove Outstrip their Cupid easilie in flight? Or, since thy wayes are deep, and still the same, Will not a verse runne smooth that bears thy name? Why doth that fire, which by thy power and might Each breast does feel, no braver fuel choose Then that which, one day, worms may chance refuse? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PROGRESS OF POETRY; A VARIATION by MATTHEW ARNOLD THE SLEEP by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING A PROPER NEW BALLAD [ENTITLED THE FAIRIES' FAREWELL] by RICHARD CORBET THE RAINY DAY by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW A MORTIFYING MISTAKE by ANNA MARIA PRATT THE SODA-WATER SLOT-MACHINE by BELLA AKHMADULINA PRIDE OF THE VILLAGE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |