Thursday, March 28, 2019

Poem For A Thursday

One more Welsh divine for #Dewithon19...


Why do I languish thus, drooping and dull,
     As if I were all earth?
O give me quickness, that I may with mirth
          Praise thee brim-full! 
The wanton lover in a curious strain
     Can praise his fairest fair;
And with quaint metaphors her curled hair
          Curl o're again. 
Thou art my loveliness, my life, my light,
     Beauty alone to me:
Thy bloody death and undeserv'd makes thee
          Pure red and white. 
When all perfections as but one appear,
     That those thy form doth show,
The very dust, where thou dost tread and go,
          Makes beauties here. 
Where are my lines then? my approaches? views?
     Where are my window songs?
Lovers are still pretending, and ev'n wrongs
          Sharpen their muse: 
But I am lost in flesh, whose sugared lies
     Still mock me, and grow bold:
Sure thou didst put a mind there, if I could
          Find where it lies. 
Lord, clear thy gift, that with a constant wit
     I may but look towards thee:
Look only, for to love thee, who can be,
          What angel fit?
-George Herbert

George Herbert was born in Montgomery, in Wales, in 1593, and even briefly represented it in Parliament, but then took orders, before dying of consumption at age 39.

I have to admit that "Sure thou didst put a mind there, if I could/find where it lies" has always somehow spoken to me...

Jennifer is featuring a lovely poem by Naomi Shihab Nye, an author entirely new to me.


  1. *giggles* That's a great line. But how sad that he was so young when he died.

    On a superficial note, what is in your cup, that it so perfectly seems to match your book cover?

  2. It is just the right color, isn't it? But it's kind of accidental. During daylight hours, at least, I'm a tea drinker, just a little milk and no sugar, so it's pretty much the same color as I would have had with any other book...