I’m reading through George Herbert’s The Temple, and this poem seemed quite fitting for the Easter season.
A Dialogue-Anthem<fn>Herbert, George. The Temple (Penguin Clothbound Poetry) (p. 264). Penguin Books Ltd. Kindle Edition.</fn>
Christian. Death.
Chr.
Alas, poor Death, where is thy glory?
Where is thy famous force, thy ancient sting?
Dea.
Alas poor mortal, void of story,
Go spell and read how I have kill’d thy King.
Chr.
Poor Death! and who was hurt thereby?
Thy curse being laid on him, makes thee accurst.
Dea.
Let losers talk: yet thou shalt die;
These arms shall crush thee.
Chr.
Spare not, do thy worst. I shall be one day better than before:
Thou so much worse, that thou shalt be no more.
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