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


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PREPAPATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: THE REFLEXION, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Lord, art thou at the table head above
Last Line: Enthrone thy rosy-selfe within mine eyes.
Subject(s): Puritans In Literature


Lord, art thou at the Table Head above
Meat, Med'cine, sweetness, sparkling Beautys to
Enamour Souls with Flaming Flakes of Love,
And not my Trencher, nor my Cup o'reflow?
Be n't I a bidden Guest? Oh! sweat mine Eye.
Oreflow with Teares: Oh! draw thy fountains dry.

Shall I not smell thy sweet, oh! Sharons Rose?
Shall not mine Eye salute thy Beauty? Why?
Shall thy sweet leaves their Beautious sweets upclose?
As halfe ashamde my sight should on them ly?
Woe's me! for this my sighs shall be in grain
Offer'd on Sorrows Altar for the same.

Had not my Soule's thy Conduit, Pipes stopt bin
With mud, what Ravishment would'st thou Convay?
Let Graces Golden Spade dig till the Spring
Of tears arise, and cleare this filth away.
Lord, let thy spirit raise my sighings till
These Pipes my soule do with thy sweetness fill.

Earth once was Paradise of Heaven below
Till inkefac'd sin had it with poyson stockt
And Chast this Paradise away into
Heav'ns upmost Loft, and it in Glory Lockt.
But thou, sweet Lord, hast with thy golden Key
Unlockt the Doore, and made, a golden day.

Once at thy Feast, I saw thee Pearle-like stand
'Tween Heaven, and Earth where Heavens Bright glory all
In streams fell on thee, as a floodgate and,
Like Sun Beams through thee on the World to Fall.
Oh! sugar sweet then! my Deare sweet Lord, I see
Saints Heavens-lost Happiness restor'd by thee.

Shall Heaven, and Earth's bright Glory all up lie
Like Sun Beams bundled in the sun, in thee?
Dost thou sit Rose at Table Head, where I
Do sit, and Carv'st no morsell sweet for mee?
So much before, so little now! Sprindge, Lord,
Thy Rosie Leaves, and me their Glee afford.

Shall not thy Rose my Garden fresh perfume?
Shall not thy Beauty my dull Heart assaile?
Shall not thy golden gleams run through this gloom?
Shall my black Velvet Mask thy fair Face Vaile?
Pass o're my Faults: shine forth, bright sun: arise
Enthrone thy Rosy-selfe within mine Eyes.





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