Love (I)

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Love (I)
by George Herbert

Immortall love, authour of this great frame,
    Sprung from that beautie which can never fade ;
    How hath man parcel’d out thy glorious name,
And thrown it on that dust which thou hast made,

While mortall love doth all the title gain !
    Which siding with invention, they together
    Bear all the sway, possessing heart and brain,
(Thy workmanship) and give thee share in neither.

Wit fancies beautie, beautie raiseth wit :
    The world is theirs ; they two play out the game,
    Thou standing by : and though thy glorious name
Wrought our deliverance from th’ infernall pit,

    Who sings thy praise ? onely a skarf or glove
    Doth warm our hands, and make them write of love.