And now in age I bud again, After so many deaths I live and write; I once more smell the dew and rain, And… — George Herbert
And now in age I bud again,
After so many deaths I live and write;
I once more smell the dew and rain,
And relish versing: O my only light,
It cannot be
That I am he
On whom thy tempests fell all night.
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Who would have thought my shrivel'd heart
Could have recovered greenness?
Whereas if the heart be moved,
Although the verse be somewhat scant,
God doth supply the want.
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 didst wink and wouldst not see.
