Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE CANDLE, by JOSEPH BEAUMONT First Line: The life and death I once did mark Last Line: Converts ye candles into starrs. Subject(s): Candles; Christianity; Faith; Humanity; Youth; Belief; Creed | ||||||||
THE Life and Death I once did mark Of a wax Candle in ye Dark: And by its light Me thought I read Poor Mans short story, His slender glory Soon lighted, soon extinguished. In this blind World, all black as Night, Is Kindled each Mans native Light; And Kindled at a Senior Flame Which if you shall A Candle call, You but describe a Parents Name. When first this infant Light is borne, How tender is its twinckling Morne! When every petty, paltrie Wind Which walks yt way Makes it his play To puffe it out, & leave it blind. As it does stronger grow, it finds More boistrous stormes, & greater Winds, And yet ye worst and foulest fear Doth from within Its mischeif gin, When a slie Theefe appeareth there. But yet of all ye rest, ye cheife And most pernicious fatall Theefe Is blazing, droyling Luxurie: Never was Light So rich & bright But this could wast it suddenlie. But still ye Snuffer may, (& this Nothing but sharp Affliction is) The wastfull Theefe expell & set The trimmed Light In thriving plight, Right safe and quiet, clean & neat. If downward then it does propend, It turnes its owne Theefe, & does spend It selfe in vaine: Steadfast & even The Light must be, Perpetually Upright & burning towards Heaven. If it be hurried heer and there, The troubled Flame cannot forbear To wast its Stock: that Life is best, For Man, which may It selfe injoy Immured safe in private Rest. Yet in that Rest ye Candle lives By preying on it Selfe, & thrives To its owne ruine: Tis ye same False Fire from whom Its Life doth come, Wch proves at length its Funerall Flame. And then, how fine so e'r before, In Faithfull tale It must restore Its Principles; & so discover What was before; Nothing alas, but poor And sallow Ashes furbish'd over. Thus All must dye. But yet We see That In their Deaths they disagree. Some leave a stink, which breatheth in Their Memorie; And these are they Whose grosse Composure smelt of sin. Yet Purer Candles leave behind A pleasing smell, sweet as ye Wind Which at ye Phenix's Funerall Flame Perfum'd his Breath, And blew her Death Through all ye fairest Mouths of Fame. But those clear Tapors, wch we find Of Virgin wax, leave Them behind And by Unstained Puritie Far, far excell All parallell; These sweetlyest live, and sweetlyest die. But These & They die not to be Bury'd in that blind Destinie. Heavn for ye Dying Spark prepares A better Spheer Above, & there Converts ye Candles into Starrs. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UNHOLY SONNET 4 by MARK JARMAN QUIA ABSURDUM by ROBINSON JEFFERS GOING TO THE HORSE FLATS by ROBINSON JEFFERS SONNET TO FORTUNE by LUCY AIKEN JONATHAN EDWARDS IN WESTERN MASSACHUSETTS by ROBERT LOWELL RELIGIOUS INSTRUCTION by MINA LOY Γενεθλιακον by JOSEPH BEAUMONT Γενεθλιακον by JOSEPH BEAUMONT A CONCLUSORIE HUMNE TO THE SAME WEEK; & FOR MY FRIEND by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |
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