George Herbert--But Not from The Temple

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[Sonnet (I)] 
George Herbert

My God, where is that ancient heat towards thee,
    Wherewith whole showls of Martyrs once did burn,
    Besides their other flames? Doth Poetry
Wear Venus livery? only serve her turn?
Why are not Sonnets made of thee? and layes
    Upon thine Altar burnt? Cannot thy love
    Heighten a spirit to sound out thy praise
As well as any she? Cannot thy Dove
Out-strip their Cupid easily in flight?
    Or, since thy wayes are deep, and still the fame,
    Will not a verse run smooth that bears thy name!
Why doth that fire, which by thy power and might
    Each breast does feel, no braver fuel choose
    Than that, which one day, Worms, may chance refuse?

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That last line is what separates the master from apprentices.



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This page contains a single entry by Steven Riddle published on May 20, 2004 7:56 AM.

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