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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE PROFFER, by HENRY VAUGHAN Poet Analysis Poet's Biography
First Line: Be still black parasites
Last Line: If these be fair, o what is heaven!
Alternate Author Name(s): Silurist
First Line: Be still black parasites
Last Line: If these be fair, o what is heaven!
Alternate Author Name(s): Silurist
Be still black parasites,
Flutter no more;
Were it still winter, as it was before,
You'd make no flights;
But now the dew and Sun have warmed my bowers,
You fly and flock to suck the flowers.
But you would honey make:
These buds will wither,
And what you now extract, in harder weather
Will serve to take;
Wise husband will (you say) there wants prevent,
Who do not so, too late repent.
O pois'nous, subtle fowls!
The flies of hell
That buzz in every ear, and blow on souls
Until they smell
And rot, descend not here, nor think to stay,
I've read, who 'twas, drove you away.
Think you these longing eyes,
Though sick and spent,
And almost famished, ever will consent
To leave those skies,
That glass of souls and spirits, where well dressed
They shine in white (like stars) and rest.
Shall my short hour, my inch,
My one poor sand,
And crumb of life, now ready to disband,
Revolt and flinch,
And having borne the burthen all the day,
Now cast at night my crown away?
No, No; I am not he,
Go seek elsewhere.
I skill not your fine tinsel and false hair,
Your sorcery
And smooth seducements: I'll not stuff my story
With your Commonwealth and glory.
There are, that will sow tares
And scatter death
Amongst the quick, selling their souls and breath
For any wares;
But when thy Master comes, they'll find and see
There's a reward for them and thee.
Then keep the ancient way!
Spit out their phlegm
And fill thy breast with home; think on thy dream:
A calm, bright day!
A land of flowers and spices! the word given,
If these be fair, O what is Heaven!