Saturday, April 24, 2010

classic poem #3


I BLESSE thee, Lord, because I G R O W
Among thy trees, which in a R O W
To thee both fruit and order O W.

What open force, or hidden C H A R M
Can blast my fruit, or bring me H A R M
While the inclosure is thine A R M?

Inclose me still for fear I S T A R T.
Be to me rather sharp and T A R T,
Than let me want thy hand and A R T.

When thou dost greater judgements S P A R E,
And with thy knife but prune and P A R E,
Ev'n fruitful trees more fruitfull A R E.

Such sharpness shows the sweetest F R E N D:
Such cuttings rather heal than R E N D:
And such beginnings touch their E N D.

George Herbert (1593-1633)


Julana said...


violet said...

Isn't it! This poem was first sent to me by my sister-in-law. She calls it the pruning poem.

Herbert had some luxuries though: owe being spelled "ow" and friend - "frend"

Julana said...

If we're holding the pen, we have those luxuries, too. Look what's happened on Twitter and with texting. We're returning to the pre-Chaucerian era. Fonetix. ;-)

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