Salvation to all that will is nigh,
That All, that always is All every where,
Which cannot sinne, yet all sinnes must beare,
Which cannot die, yet cannot chuse but die,
Loe, faithfull Virgin, yeelds himselfe to lye
In prison, in thy wombe; and though he there
Can take no sinne, nor thou give, yet he’will weare
Taken from thence, flesh, which deaths force may trie.
Ere by the spheares time was created, thou
Wast in his minde, who is thy Sonne, and brother,
Whom thou conceiv’st, conceived; yea thou are now
Thy Makers maker, and thy Fathers mother,
Thou’hast light in darke; and shutst in little roome,
Immensity cloysterd in thy deare wombe.
(#2 in La Corona)
Doesn’t anyone else love this poem, with his wonderful old words and daring conceits!? Come on! Where are all the literary people? Enjoy this with me!!!
— i thought of posting, but knew not what to say
— and so i pondered on the poem, after john donne’s way
— moved in heart and soul was i
— and so this posting i did try
Beautiful, beautiful, powerful, distilled excellence. Thanks so much for sharing this. I’ll reread it much in the days ahead.