Sunday Poem.

Screenshot_2020-09-13 (JPEG Image, 900 × 615 pixels)

The replication of the University of Michigan text is useful: one does not know when the woke will start deleting servers. I do have a printed volume of this. Get all the good stuff in print, preferably hardback, preferably high quality. I have a penguin version: the everyman series used to be superb for this kind of thing.

The internet is a poor substitute. Servers require electricity, via a grid. They are fragile by nature. More so than our bodies.

Sepulchre.

O Blessed bodie! Whither art thou thrown?
No lodging for thee, but a cold hard stone?
So many hearts on earth, and yet not one
Receive thee?

Sure there is room within our hearts good store;
For they can lodge transgressions by the score:
Thousands of toyes dwell there, yet out of doore
They leave thee.

But that which shews them large, shews them unfit.
What ever sinne did this pure rock commit,
Which holds thee now? Who hath indited it
Of murder?

Where our hard hearts have took up stones to brain thee,
And missing this, most falsly did arraigne thee;
Onely these stones in quiet entertain thee,
And order.

And as of old, the law by heav’nly art
Was writ in stone; so thou, which also art
The letter of the word, find’st no fit heart
To hold thee.

Yet do we still persist as we began,
And so should perish, but that nothing can,
Though it be cold, hard, foul, from loving man
Withold thee.

George Herbert, 1633

Start the Conversation

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *


*