Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership


CreationEarth Nature Photos


Unprofitableness

 How rich, O Lord! how fresh thy visits are! 
'Twas but just now my bleak leaves hopeless hung 
Sullied with dust and mud; 
Each snarling blast shot through me, and did share 
Their youth, and beauty, cold showers nipt, and wrung 
Their spiciness and blood; 
But since thou didst in one sweet glance survey 
Their sad decays, I flourish, and once more 
Breath all perfumes, and spice; 
I smell a dew like myrrh, and all the day 
Wear in my bosom a full sun; such store 
Hath one beam from thy eyes.
But, ah, my God! what fruit hast thou of this? What one poor leaf did ever I yet fall To wait upon thy wreath? Thus thou all day a thankless weed dost dress, And when th'hast done, a stench or fog is all The odor I bequeath.

by Henry Vaughan
Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem - UnprofitablenessEmail Poem |
Comment below this ad.

Top Henry Vaughan Poems

Analysis and Comments on Unprofitableness

Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem Unprofitableness here.

Commenting has been disabled for now.