The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations/Vertue

by George Herbert

For works with similar titles, see Virtue.

¶ Vertue.

SWeet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,The bridall of the earth and skie:The dew shall weep thy fall to night;For thou must die.

Sweet rose, whose hue angrie and braveBids the rash gazer wipe his eye:Thy root is ever in its grave,And thou must die.

Sweet spring, full of sweet dayes and roses,A box where sweets compacted lie;My musick shows ye have your closes,And all must die.

Onely a sweet and vertuous soul,Like season'd timber, never gives;But though the whole world turn to coal,Then chiefly lives.