George Herbert

I struck the board, and cried, "No more; 
                         I will abroad! 
What? shall I ever sigh and pine? 
My lines and life are free, free as the road, 
Loose as the wind, as large as store. 
          Shall I be still in suit? 
Have I no harvest but a thorn 
To let me bleed, and not restore 
What I have lost with cordial fruit? 
          Sure there was wine 
Before my sighs did dry it; there was corn 
    Before my tears did drown it. 
      Is the year only lost to me? 
          Have I no bays to crown it, 
No flowers, no garlands gay? All blasted? 
                  All wasted? 
Not so, my heart; but there is fruit, 
            And thou hast hands. 
Recover all thy sigh-blown age 
On double pleasures: leave thy cold dispute 
Of what is fit and not. Forsake thy cage, 
             Thy rope of sands, 
Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee 
Good cable, to enforce and draw, 
          And be thy law, 
While thou did wink and would not see. 
          Away! take heed; 
          I will abroad. 
Call in thy death's-head there; tie up thy fears; 
          He that forbears 
         To suit and serve his need 
          Deserves his load." 
But as I raved and grew more fierce and wild 
          At every word, 
Methought I heard one calling, Child!
          And I replied My Lord.   

1633

 = Wayne Vargas