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Poem by George Herbert


A Dialogue-Anthem


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 killed 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.



George Herbert


George Herbert's other poems:
  1. Sin's Round
  2. Love (Immortal Love, authour of this great frame)
  3. Charms and Knots
  4. Clasping of Hands
  5. The British Church


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