The Poems of Edward Taylor Edited by Donald E. Standford ... With a foreword by Louis L. Martz |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
9. |
10. |
11. |
12. |
13. |
14. |
15. |
16. |
17. |
18. |
19. |
20. |
21. |
22. |
23. |
24. |
25. |
26. |
27. |
28. |
29. |
30. |
31. |
32. |
33. |
34. |
35. |
36. |
37. |
38. |
39. |
40. |
41. |
42. |
43. |
44. |
45. |
46. |
47. |
48. |
49. |
50. |
51. |
52. |
53. |
54. |
56. |
58. |
59. |
60A. |
60B. |
61. |
62. |
63. |
64. |
65. |
66. |
67A. |
68A. |
67B. |
68B. |
69. |
70. |
71. |
72. |
73. |
74. |
75. |
76. |
77. |
78. |
79. |
80. |
81. |
82. |
83. |
84. |
85. |
86. |
87. |
89. |
90. |
91. |
92. |
93. |
94. |
95. |
96. |
97. |
98. |
99. |
100. |
101. |
102. |
103. |
104. |
105. |
106. |
107. |
108. |
109. |
110. |
111. |
112. |
113. |
114. |
115. |
116. |
117. |
118. |
119. |
120. |
121. |
122. |
123A. |
123B. |
125. |
126. |
127. |
128. |
129. |
130. |
131. |
132. |
133. |
134. |
135. |
136. |
137. |
138. |
139. |
140. | 140. [Meditation.] Cant. 6.7. As a piece of a Pomegranate are thy Temples within thy Locks. |
141. |
142. |
143. |
144. |
145. |
146. |
147. |
148. |
149. |
150. |
151. |
152. |
153. |
154. |
155. |
156. |
157A. |
157B. |
158. |
159. |
160. |
161A. |
161B. |
162. |
163. |
164. |
165. |
The Poems of Edward Taylor | ||
140. [Meditation.] Cant. 6.7. As a piece of a Pomegranate are thy Temples within thy Locks.
24.9m [Nov.] 1717.
My all Deare Lord, I fain would thee adore
But finde my Pen and Inke too faint to do't.
And all my Praise with which my heart runs ore
Unto thyself is but a poor dull note,
That thou in thy great love thy blesst Delight
Should set upon thy Spouse and to such hight.
But finde my Pen and Inke too faint to do't.
And all my Praise with which my heart runs ore
Unto thyself is but a poor dull note,
That thou in thy great love thy blesst Delight
Should set upon thy Spouse and to such hight.
Them thou here thus dost Court saying even thus,
Like to a piece of a Choice Pomegranate
Thy Temples shine and glaze thy Cheeks that blush,
With their Arteriall heart blood, modest state,
Whose Vitall heate and Spirits in these pipes
Make peart thy Countenance in gracious plites.
Like to a piece of a Choice Pomegranate
Thy Temples shine and glaze thy Cheeks that blush,
With their Arteriall heart blood, modest state,
Whose Vitall heate and Spirits in these pipes
Make peart thy Countenance in gracious plites.
Th'Arteriall pipes that from thy heart do run
Conveigh unto thy Temples the best Cheare
Of Hearty Spirits that to thy Temples come,
And dy them like a pomegranate looks cleare,
And make thy Cheeks to ware a Scarlet Maske
Of Modest blushes, on thy Cheeks well dasht.
Conveigh unto thy Temples the best Cheare
Of Hearty Spirits that to thy Temples come,
And dy them like a pomegranate looks cleare,
And make thy Cheeks to ware a Scarlet Maske
Of Modest blushes, on thy Cheeks well dasht.
337
Thy Countenance hence is the Looking Glass
Into thy heart wherein in cleare cleare shapes
Appear doth Choice Humility that doth pass
Most Currant coin in Graces Markets, Mates.
These pomegranated Temples exercise
A contemplation of a Spirituall Guise.
Into thy heart wherein in cleare cleare shapes
Appear doth Choice Humility that doth pass
Most Currant coin in Graces Markets, Mates.
These pomegranated Temples exercise
A contemplation of a Spirituall Guise.
A Spirituall Beauty on the Spouse hence flames
Thats Emblemized by the Pomegranate
Unto us on the temples by its grains
Wearing a scarlet dy upon their Shape
All holding out a Spirituall Beauty fresh
And Chiefly to Christ's Eye in loveliness.
Thats Emblemized by the Pomegranate
Unto us on the temples by its grains
Wearing a scarlet dy upon their Shape
All holding out a Spirituall Beauty fresh
And Chiefly to Christ's Eye in loveliness.
My Lord my Temples pomegranate make thus
That I may ware this Holy Modesty
Upon my Face maskt with thy Graces blush,
That never goes without Humility.
Thy lovely object then all grace shall bee
Shall Humbly sing forth graces notes to thee.
That I may ware this Holy Modesty
Upon my Face maskt with thy Graces blush,
That never goes without Humility.
Thy lovely object then all grace shall bee
Shall Humbly sing forth graces notes to thee.
The Poems of Edward Taylor | ||