Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 120, by EDWARD TAYLOR


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 120, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: My deare-deare lord! What shall my speech be dry?
Last Line: Orecoming notes that fill my harpe with tunes.
Subject(s): Puritans In Literature


My Deare-Deare Lord! What shall my speech be dry?
And shall I court thee onely with dull tunes?
When I behold thy Cheekes like brave beds ly
Of Spices and sweet flowers, reechs of Perfumes?
Sweet beauty reeching in thy Countenance
Oh! amorous Charms: that bring't up in a Trance!

Oh! brightest Beauty, Lord, that paints thy Cheeks
Yea sweetest Beauty that Face ere did ware,
Mans Clayey Face ne're breathd such ayery Reechs
Nor e're such Charming Sweetness gave so fair.
If otherwise true Wisdoms voice would bee,
That greater Love belong'd to these than thee;

If so, Love to thyselfe might slacke its pin
And Love to Worldly Gayes might screw up higher
Its rusty pin, till, that her Carnall String
Did raise Earths Tunes above the Heavenly Quire.
Shall Vertue thus descend, and have Disgrace?
Shall brightest beauty have the lowest place?

Shall dirty Earth out shine the Heavens bright?
Our Garden bed out shine thy Paradise?
Shall Earthy Dunghills yield more sweet Delight?
Be sweeter than thy Cheeks like beds of Spice?
Are all things natur'de thus and named wrong?
Hath God that made them all made all thus run?

Where is the thought that's in such dy pot di'de?
Where is the mouth that mutters such a thing?
Where is the tongue that dare such Speech let slide?
As Cramps the Aire that doth such ditties ding
Upon the Ear that wound and poison doe?
Thy Auditory Temple where they goe?

Such things as these indeed are Hells black Smoke
That pother from its Chimny tunnells vile
To smut thy perfect beauty, Damps thence broke
Out of the Serpents Smokehole, to defile
And Choake our Spirituall Smell and so to Crush
Thy sweet perfum out of these briezes thus.

But Oh! my Lord, I do abhorr such notes
That do besmoot thy Beautious Cheeks like Spice.
Like Pillars of perfume; thy Cheeks rich Coats,
Of purest Sweetness, decke't in's beauty Choice.
My bliss I finde lapt in my Love that keeps
Its Station on thy sweet and Beautious Cheeks.

Lord lodge my Eyes upon thy Cheekes that are
Cloathd ore with orient beauty like as't were
A Spice bed shining with sweet flowers all fair,
Enravishing the very Skies so Cleare
With their pure Spirits breathing thence perfumes
Orecoming notes that fill my Harpe with tunes.





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