George Herbert

Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell
I humbly crave,                    Let me once know
I sought thee in a secret cave,            And ask'd, if Peace were there,
A hollow winde did seem to answer,

If as the windes and waters here below Do flie and flow,
My sighs and tears as busy were above; Sure they would move And much affect thee, as tempestuous times Amaze poore mortals, and object their crimes
Starres have their storms, ev'n ...

The harbingers are come
See, see their mark;
White is their colour, and behold my head
But must they have my brain

How fresh,
O Lord, how sweet and clean Are thy returns
ev'n as the flowers in spring;     To which, besides their own demean,
The late-past frosts tributes of pleasures bring

Lord,
Thou art mine, and I am Thine, If mine I am: and Thine much more Then I or ought, or can be mine
Yet to be Thine, doth me restore; So that again I now am mine, And with advantage mine the more
Since this being mine, brings wit...

When first my lines of heav'nly joyes made mention,
Such was their lustre, they did so excell,
That I sought out quaint words and trim invention;
My thoughts began to burnish, sprout, and swell,

Who reade a chapter when they rise,
Shall ne're be troubled with ill eyes
A poore man's rod, when thou dost ride,
Is both a weapon and a guide

Sweetest of sweets,
I thank you: when displeasure Did through my bodie wound my minde,
You took me thence; and in your house of pleasure A daintie lodging me assign'd
Now I in you without a bodie move, Rising and falling with your w...

A wreathed garland of deserved praise,
Of praise deserved, unto thee I give,
I give to thee, who knowest all my wayes,
My crooked winding wayes, wherein I live,

I travell'd on, seeing the hill, where lay My expectation
A long it was and weary way: The gloomy cave of DesperationI left on th' one, and on the other side The Rock of Pride
And so I came to Phansies medow strow'd With many a flower: F...

O Day most calm, most bright The fruit of this, the next world's bud,
Th' endorsement of supreme delight,
Writ by a friend, and with his bloud;
The couch of Time;

My God,
I heard this
That none doth build a stately habitation    But he that means to dwell therein
What house more stately hath there been,