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Poem by George Herbert


Virtue


Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright
The bridal of the earth and sky:
The dew shall weep thy fall tonight,
      For thou must die.

Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave,
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eyes:
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 seasoned timber, never gives;
But though the whole world turn to coal.
      Then chiefly lives. 



George Herbert


George Herbert's other poems:
  1. Mattins
  2. Clasping of Hands
  3. The Search
  4. The Dawning
  5. The Sinner


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