George Herbert

(3 April 1593 – 1 March 1633 / Montgomery, Wales)

Sonnet (I) - Poem by George Herbert

My God, where is that ancient heat towards thee,
Wherewith whole showls of Martyrs once did burn,
Besides their other flames? Doth Poetry
Wear Venus livery? only 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
Out-strip their Cupid easily in flight?
Or, since thy wayes are deep, and still the fame,
Will not a verse run smooth that bears thy name!
Why doth that fire, which by thy power and might
Each breast does feel, no braver fuel choose
Than that, which one day, Worms, may chance refuse?

Comments about Sonnet (I) by George Herbert

  • Douglas Scotney (3/1/2015 5:31:00 PM)

    life without ideals stifles poetry (Report) Reply

    0 person liked.
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  • Luis Estable (3/1/2015 12:28:00 PM)

    I am not sure if God here is God, or if the word stands for something else. The lack of knoledge by the spreaker that poetry of praise has nno been wriiten of God, and it they have been, in truth, they were not deserving of his Tall Name.

    Perhaps God here stands fopr the body or something else that I fail to see. for of course much praise has been given to God in prose and in verse.

    A good sonnet this is, and I had pleasure going through it.

    Luis Estable (Report) Reply

  • Declan White Declan White (3/1/2015 6:50:00 AM)

    Great poem, fantastic. (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: poetry, power, fire, god, sonnet, running

Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 1, 2004

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