Saturday, April 7, 2018

Vertue Poem By George Herbert


   - By George Herbert

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 
The bridal of the earth and skie; 
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night, 
                            For thou must die. 

Sweet rose, whose hue angrie and brave 
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye: 
Thy root is ever in its grave, 
                             And thou must die. 

Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, 
A box where sweets compacted lie: 
My music shows ye have your closes, 
                                  And all must die. 

Only a sweet and virtuous soul, 
Like season'd timber, never gives; 
But though the whole world turn to coal, 
                                      Then chiefly lives. 

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