George Herbert(1593–1633)
Virtue
S w e e t day, s o c o o l , s o c a l m , s o bright,
T h e bridal of t h e e a r t h a n d sky:
T h e d e w shall w e e p thy fall tonight;
For t h o u m u s t die.
S w e e t rose, w h o s e h u e , angry a n d brave,7
Bids t h e rash gazer w i p e his eye:
T h y root is ever in its grave,
A n d t h o u m u s t die.
S w e e t spring, full o f s w e e t days a n d roses,
A box where sweets 0 compacted lie;-perfumes
My music shows ye have your closes, 8
A n d all m u s t die.
O n l y a s w e e t a n d v i r t u o u s soul,
Like s e a s o n e d t i m b e r , n e v e r gives;
But though the whole world turn to coal, 5
T h e n c h i e f l y lives.