I’m reading through George Herbert’s The Temple, and this poem seemed quite fitting for the Easter season.
A Dialogue-Anthem1Herbert, George. The Temple (Penguin Clothbound Poetry) (p. 264). Penguin Books Ltd. Kindle Edition.
Alas, poor Death, where is thy glory?
Where is thy famous force, thy ancient sting?
Alas poor mortal, void of story,
Go spell and read how I have kill’d thy King.
Poor Death! and who was hurt thereby?
Thy curse being laid on him, makes thee accurst.
Let losers talk: yet thou shalt die;
These arms shall crush thee.
Spare not, do thy worst. I shall be one day better than before:
Thou so much worse, that thou shalt be no more.
|↑1||Herbert, George. The Temple (Penguin Clothbound Poetry) (p. 264). Penguin Books Ltd. Kindle Edition.|