Grief

O who will give me tears? Come, all ye springs,
Dwell in my head and eyes; come, clouds
and rain;
My grief hath need of all the watery things
That nature hath produced: let every vein
Suck up a river to supply mine eyes,
My weary weeping eyes, too dry for me,
Unless they get new conduits, new supplies,
To bear them out, and with my state agree.
What are two shallow fords, two little spouts
Of a less world ? the greater is but small,
A narrow cupboard for my griefs and doubts,
Which want provision in the midst of all.
Verses, ye are too fine a thing, too wise
For my rough sorrows ; cease, be dumb and mute,
Give up your feet and running to mine eyes,
And keep your measures for some lover's lute,
Whose grief allows him music and a rhyme ;
For mine excludes both measure, tune, and time :
Alas, my God!

by George Herbert

Other poems of HERBERT (87)

Comments (8)

Well, that sneaked right up on me and smacked me on the head and I deserved it, thinking this was going to be a yawn to read. Brilliant! Heer's the same little fishes that sputter an swim, Wi' the moon's old glim on the grey, wet sand; An' him no more to me mor me to him Than the wind goin' over my hand. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -LOVE THIS!
In a way this poem sounds like she was writing about an unrequited love for sailor but perhaps she longed for a life at sea...
Very interesting poem.Like to read again and again. Thanks for posting.
Heer's the same little fishes that sputter an swim, Wi' the moon's old glim on the grey, wet sand; An' him no more to me mor me to him Than the wind goin' over my hand. Nice poem. Thanks poet.10.
Little fishes! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
See More