52 Poems
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THE LATEST DECALOGUE Thou shalt have one God only; who Would be at the expense of two? No graven images may be Worshipped, except the currency. Swear not at all; for, for thy curse Thine enemy is none the worse. At church on Sunday to attend Will serve to keep the world thy friend. Honor
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HOUSE OF REST Now all the world she knew is dead In this small room she lives her days The wash-hand stand and single bed Screened from the public gaze. The horse-brass shines, the kettle sings, The cup of China tea Is tasted among cared-for thing Ranged round for me to see— Lincoln, by Valentine
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(Note: the reference is to church windows; this poem is part of Herbert's long sequence The Church, which in turn is part of The Temple, which contains most of his English poetry.) THE WINDOWS LORD, how can man preach thy eternall word ? He is a brittle crazie glasse : Yet in thy temple
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EPISTLE TO BE LEFT IN THE EARTH …It is colder now, there are many stars, we are drifting North by the Great Bear, the leaves are falling, The water is stone in the scooped rocks, to southward Red sun grey air: the crows are
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FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY DEATH Every year without knowing it I have passed the day When the last fires will wave to me And the silence will set out Tireless traveler Like the beam of a lightless star Then I will no longer Find myself in life as in a strange garment Surprised at
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FIRST ODE FOR A VERY YOUNG LADY Shamming accuracy I was going to say that she is spherical… She is not, she consists of two spheres joined together by not much of a neck and six symmetrical protuberances ears, arms, legs– plus a small knob in the centre of the smaller sphere, the one on
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Ent. When spring unfolds the beechen-leaf and sap is in the bough,When light is on the wild-wood stream, and wind is on the brow, When stride is long, and breath is deep, and keen the mountain air,Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is fair! Entwife. When Spring is come
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THE LANTERN OUT OF DOORS Sometimes a lantern moves along the light, That interests our eyes. And who goes there? I think; where from and bound, I wonder, where, With, all down darkness wide, his wading light? Men go by me whom either beauty bright In mould or mind or what not else makes rare:
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THE COUNTRY CLERGY I see them working in old rectories By the sun's light, by candlelight, Venerable men, their black cloth A little dusty, a little green With holy mildew. And yet their skulls, Ripening over so many prayers, Toppled into the same grave With oafs and yokels. They left no books, Memorial to their
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Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air, Thrice sit thou mute in this enchanted chair, Then thrice three times tie up this true love's knot, And murmur soft "She will, or she will not." Go burn these pois'nous weeds in yon blue fire, These screech-owl's feathers and this prickling briar, This cypress gathered at
Light On Dark Water 