Logos Virtual Library: George Herbert: The Temple: The Church: Frailtie

George Herbert

George Herbert (1593-1633)

The Temple

Frailtie

Lord, in my silence how do I despise

What upon trust
Is styled honour, riches, or fair eyes;

But is fair dust!

I surname them guilded clay,

Deare earth, fine grasse or hay;
In all, I think my foot doth ever tread

Upon their head.

But when I view abroad both Regiments;

The worlds, and thine:
Thine clad with simplenesse, and sad events;

The other fine,

Full of glorie and gay weeds,

Brave language, braver deeds:
That which was dust before, doth quickly rise,

And prick mine eyes.

O brook not this, lest if what even now

My foot did tread,
Affront those joyes, wherewith thou didst endow,

And long since wed

My poore soul, ev’n sick of love:

It may a Babel prove
Commodious to conquer heav’n and thee

Planted in me.