(SENT BY GEORGE HERBERT TO HIS MOTHER AS A NEW YEAR'S GIFT FROM CAMBRIDGE) MY God, where is that ancient heat towards thee Wherewith whole shoals of martyrs once did burn, Besides their other flames? Doth poetrie Wear Venus' liverie? onely 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 Outstrip their Cupid easilie in flight? Or, since thy wayes are deep, and still the same, Will not a verse runne smooth that bears thy name? Why doth that fire, which by thy power and might Each breast does feel, no braver fuel choose Then that which, one day, worms may chance refuse? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FIRST-DAY THOUGHTS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER ECCE IN DESERTO by HENRY AUGUSTIN BEERS A WOMAN'S SONNETS: 11 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 2 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT AS LOVELY AS THEY by EVA MARBELL BONDI THE COACHMAN'S YARN by EDWIN JAMES BRADY NITHSDALE'S WELCOME HAME by ROBERT BURNS |