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George Herbert Short Poems

Famous Short George Herbert Poems. Short poetry by famous poet George Herbert. A collection of the all-time best George Herbert short poems


by George Herbert
 I Got me flowers to straw Thy way, 
I got me boughs off many a tree; 
But Thou wast up by break of day, 
And brought’st Thy sweets along with Thee.
The sunne arising in the East, Though he give light, and th’ East perfume, If they should offer to contest With Thy arising, they presume.
Can there be any day but this, Though many sunnes to shine endeavour? We count three hundred, but we misse: There is but one, and that one ever.



by George Herbert
 Ah, my dear angry Lord,
Since thou dost love, yet strike;
Cast down, yet help afford;
Sure I will do the like.
I will complain, yet praise; I will bewail, approve; And all my sour-sweet days I will lament and love.

Nature  Create an image from this poem
by George Herbert
 the yellow legged plovers live at the university and stare down
pale students who dare to walk near them

we like them

they are the smartest things around with their brown caps and stiffish know-it-all walk
god, don't they look like the newly arrived so proud to be here, 

and busy, 

the plovers should have keys and a whistle on a lanyard each 
like brisk brutish phys ed teachers they probably once were

by George Herbert
 O that I could a sin once see! 
We paint the devil foul, yet he
Hath some good in him, all agree.
Sin is flat opposite to th' Almighty, seeing It wants the good of virtue, and of being.
But God more care of us hath had: If apparitions make us sad, By sight of sin we should grow mad.
Yet as in sleep we see foul death, and live: So devils are our sins in perspective.

by George Herbert
 Alas, poor Death! Where is thy glory?
Where is thy famous force, thy ancient sting?

Alas, poor mortal, void of story!
Go spell and read how I have killed thy King.
Poor Death! And who was hurt thereby? Thy curse being laid on Him makes thee accurst.
Let losers talk, yet thou shalt die; These arms shall crush thee.
Spare not, do thy worst.
I shall be one day better than before; Thou so much worse, that thou shalt be no more.

by George Herbert
 Since, Lord, to thee
A narrow way and little gate
Is all the passage, on my infancy
Thou didst lay hold, and antedate
My faith in me.
O let me still Write thee great God, and me a child: Let me be soft and supple to thy will, Small to my self, to others mild, Behither ill.
Although by stealth My flesh get on, yet let her sister My soul bid nothing, but preserve her wealth: The growth of flesh is but a blister; Childhood is health.

by George Herbert
 Chorus: Let all the world in ev'ry corner sing
'My God and King.
' Verse: The heav'ns are not too high, His praise may thither fly: The earth is not too low, His praises there may grow.
Chorus: Let all the world in ev'ry corner sing, 'My God and King.
' Verse: The church with psalms must shout No door can keep them out: But above all, the heart Must bear the longest part.
Chorus: Let all the world in ev'ry corner sing, 'My God and King.
'

Grace  Create an image from this poem
by George Herbert
 This air is flooded with her.
I am a boy again, and my mother and I lie on wet grass, laughing.
She startles, turns to marigolds at my side, saying beautiful, and I can see the red there is in them.
When she would fall into her thoughts, we'd look for what distracted her from us.
My mother's gone again as suddenly as ever and, seven months after the funeral, I go dancing.
I am becoming grateful.
Breathing, thinking, marigolds.

by George Herbert
 Sweetest of sweets, I thank you: when displeasure
Did through my body wound my mind,
You took me thence, and in your house of pleasure
A dainty lodging me assigned.
Now I in you without a body move, Rising and falling with your wings: We both together sweetly live and love, Yet say sometimes, "God help poor Kings".
Comfort, I'll die; for if you post from me Sure I shall do so, and much more: But if I travel in your company, You know the way to heaven's door.

by George Herbert
 A broken ALTAR, Lord, thy servant rears,
Made of a heart and cemented with tears;
Whose parts are as thy hand did frame;
No workman's tool hath touch'd the same.
A HEART alone Is such a stone, As nothing but Thy pow'r doth cut.
Wherefore each part Of my hard heart Meets in this frame To praise thy name.
That if I chance to hold my peace, These stones to praise thee may not cease.
Oh, let thy blessed SACRIFICE be mine, And sanctify this ALTAR to be thine.