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.
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Comments about this poem (Virtue by George Herbert )
- Your Initiative, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- To Want With Wishes It More Lived, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- Your Kept Best, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- ROUND AND ROUND, Peter LeBuhn
- God's Gift To You!, Denis Martindale
- Voices, stephen awuni
- Cost Less, stephen awuni
- My Past Governs Me, Ian Paisnel
- Mind's Heart, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Unrest Soul: Imperfection, Onyekachukwu Vincent Onyeche
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Edgar Allan Poe
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(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)