Sure, Lord, there is enough in thee to drie Oceans of ink; for, as the deluge did Cover the earth, so doth thy majestie: Each cloud distills thy praise, and doth forbid Poets to turn it to another use. Roses and lilies speak thee; and to make A pair of cheeks of them, is thy abuse. Why should I womens eyes for crystal take? Such poor invention burns in their low minde Whose fire is wild, and doth not upward go To praise, and on thee, Lord, some ink bestow. Open the bones, and you shall nothing finde In the best face but filth; when, Lord, in thee The beauty lies in the discoverie. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HIGHWAY DEATH TOLL by KAREN SWENSON TO ONE IN BEDLAM by ERNEST CHRISTOPHER DOWSON A FRIEND'S SONG FOR SIMOISIUS by LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY OUR MASTER by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER PRAYER FOR A CITY CHILD by DOROTHY P. ALBAUGH |