Nor is my Number full, till I inscribe Thee sprightly Soame, one of my righteous Tribe: A Tribe of one Lip; Leven, and of One Civil Behaviour, and Religion. A Stock of Saints; where ev'ry one doth weare Among which Holies, be Thou ever known, Brave Kinsman, markt out with the whiter stone: Which seals Thy Glorie; since I doe prefer Thee here in my eternall Calender. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOW THE GREAT GUEST CAME by EDWIN MARKHAM JOHN BARLEYCORN by ROBERT BURNS THE BERG (A DREAM) by HERMAN MELVILLE NEW FRIENDS AND OLD FRIENDS by JOSEPH PARRY A SONG OF A YOUNG LADY TO HER ANCIENT LOVER by JOHN WILMOT LILIES: 16. MY GIFT by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS: BOOK 2. THE THIRD SONG by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |