Hej,
Jeg faldt over disse digte, som jeg ikke kunne stå for. Stor poesi. Jeg fik
lyst til at dele dem med jer:
Først et af Robert Southwell (1561-1595):
A childe my Choyce
Let folly praise that fancie loves, I praise and love that child,
Whose hart, no thought: whose tong, no word: whose hand no deed defiled.
I praise him most, I love him best, all praise and love is his:
While him I love, in him I live, and cannot live amisse.
Loves sweetest mark, Lawdes highest theme, mans most desired light:
To love him, life: to leave him, death: to live in him, delight.
He mine, by gift: I his, by debt: thus each, to other due:
First friend he was: best friend he is: all times will try him true.
Though young, yet wise: though smal, yet strong: though man, yet God heis:
As wise, he knowes: as strong, he can: as God, he loves to blisse.
His knowledge rules: his strength, defends: his love, doth cherish all:
His birth, our Joye: his life, our light: his death, our end of thrall.
Alas, he weepes, he sighes, he pants, yeat doo his Angels sing:
Out of his teares, his sighes and throbs, doth bud a joyfull spring.
Almightie babe, whose tender armes can force all foes to flie:
Correct my faultes, protect my life, direct me when I die.
Dernæst fra John Donne (1572-1631):
A Hymne to God the Father
1
Wilt thou forgive that sinne where I begunne,
Which is my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt thou forgive those sinnes through which I runne,
And doe them still: though still I doe deplore?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For, I have more.
2
Wilt thou forgive that sinne by which I'have wonne
Others to sinne? and, made my sinne their doore?
Wilt thou forgive that sinne which I did shunne
A yeare, or two: but wallow'd in, a score?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For, I have more.
3
I have a sinne of feare, that when I'have spunne
My last thred, I shall perish on the shore;
Sweare by thy selfe, that at my death thy Sunne
Shall shine as it shines now, and heretofore;
And, having done that, Thou hast done,
I have no more.
Kilde: <
http://www.thepierianspring.dk/relvis/rv.htm>.
God nat,
Rasmus Underbjerg Pinnerup
--
"Sleep... Oh! how I loathe those little slices of death."
- Longfellow