Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky,
The dew shall weep thy fall tonight;
For thou must die.

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

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

Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like seasoned timber, never gives;
But though the whole world turn to coal,
Then chiefly lives.

Poet: George Herbert
Poem: Virtue

Are you looking for more information on this poem? Perhaps you are trying to analyze it? The poem, Virtue, has received 5 comments. Click here to read them, and perhaps post a comment of your own. Of course you can also always discuss poems by George Herbert with others on the Poetry Connection poetry forum!