Easter Wings by George Herbert
February 9th 2009 20:00
LORD, who createdst man in wealth and store,
Though foolishly he lost the same,
Decaying more and more,
Till he became
Most poor:
With thee
O let me rise
As larks, harmoniously,
And sing this day thy victories:
Then shall the fall further the flight in me.
My tender age in sorrow did begin:
And still with sicknesses and shame
Thou didst so punish sin,
That I became
Most thin.
With thee
Let me combine
And feel this day thy victory
For, if I imp my wing on thine,
Affliction shall advance the flight in me.
Though foolishly he lost the same,
Decaying more and more,
Till he became
Most poor:
With thee
O let me rise
As larks, harmoniously,
And sing this day thy victories:
Then shall the fall further the flight in me.
My tender age in sorrow did begin:
And still with sicknesses and shame
Thou didst so punish sin,
That I became
Most thin.
With thee
Let me combine
And feel this day thy victory
For, if I imp my wing on thine,
Affliction shall advance the flight in me.
This poem by George Herbert is also known as an emblem poem, which takes the shape of an emblem (religious picture) that were popular back then. Think of emblem poems as a precursor to modern 'concrete' poetry.
This poem was originally published on its side, so it looked even more like wings than it does horizontally. Yes, that's what it's supposed to be in the shape of.
This poem is great not only because of the precise meter and diction, but because the theme of the poem ties in so well with the concrete form. The visual aspect of this poem isn't an idle decision of the poet's, it's a purposeful weaving together of structure and meaning. As things get darker and bleaker, the lines grow shorter and simpler, but then when things start looking up again, the lines rise up and become longer and more confident.
The poem is made more poignant when the reader knows about Herbert's personal life. Long story short, Herbert was a well-known, well-educated Englishman guy who settled down to be a country pastor for a tiny rural community. He threw himself into his work passionately, and had a tremendous faith in God and overwhelming love for his congregation. He was in chronic bad health, always sick and scrawny, eventually dying from his various illnesses. Despite his perpetually deteriorating health, he kept on being the best pastor he could be, writing and playing music as much as he could. Most of his poetry was not about himself specifically, and this one poem is a poignant look into his life and how he thought about himself. He was a great person and a great poet, and I count him among my heroes of the old world. He died in 1633.
Hope you enjoyed the poem. I recommend looking up anything else that he wrote, whether you're a religious type or not. It's just good poetry. Have a good day, everyone!
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