GEORGE HERBERT A SONNET SENT TO HIS MOTHER AS A NEW YEAR'S GIFT FROM CAMBRIDGE My God, where is that ancient heat towards Thee Or, since Thy ways are deep, and still the same Will not a verse run smooth that bears Thy name? Why doth that fire, which by Thy power and might Each breast does feel, no braver fuel choose Than that, which one day worms may chance refuse? GEORGE HERBERT SIN LORD, with what care hast Thou begirt us round! The sound of glory ringing in our ears; One cunning bosom-sin blows quite away. WILLIAM HABINGTON (1605-54) LOVE'S ANNIVERSARY TO THE SUN THOU art returned, great Light, to that blest hour The rose bud forth and fade, the tree grow green With winter wrinkled. Even thy self dost yield WILLIAM HABINGTON OF THE KNOWLEDGE OF LOVE WHERE Sleeps the North wind when the South inspires Life in the spring and gathers into quires The scattered nightingales; whose subtle ears Compacted of; of what its brightest eye In the unknown world; what worlds in every star; Let curious fancies at this secret rove ; Castara, what we know, we'll practise, Love. JOHN MILTON (1608-74) TO THE NIGHTINGALE O NIGHTINGALE that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, While the jolly hours lead on propitious May. Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day, First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, Portend success in love. O, if Jove's will Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate Foretell my hopeless doom, in some grove nigh; Whether the Muse or Love call thee his mate, |