The Soul Is The Salt.

The body's salt the soul is; which when gone,
The flesh soon sucks in putrefaction.

Robert Herrick

Robert Herrick was a 17th-century English lyric poet and cleric. He is known for his book of poems, "Hesperides," which includes the carpe diem poem "To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time." His works are noted for their clarity, simplicity, and musical quality. Herrick was also a vicar of Dean Prior in Devon, despite being ejected during the English Civil War and later reinstated.

Robert Herrick

On Gilly-Flowers Begotten.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Upon Prudence Baldwin: Her Sickness.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Pain And Pleasure.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Silence.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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The Body.

The body is the soul's poor house or home,
Whose ribs the laths are, and whose flesh the loam.

Robert Herrick

The Soul.

When once the soul has lost her way,
O then how restless does she stray!
And having not her God for light,
How does she err in endless night!

Robert Herrick

Sin.

Sin never slew a soul unless there went
Along with it some tempting blandishment.

Robert Herrick

The Soul.

All my mind has sat in state,
Pond'ring on the deathless Soul:
What must be the Perfect Whole,
When the atom is so great!

God!    I fall in spirit down,
Low as Persian to the sun;
All my senses, one by one,
In the stream of Thought must drown.

On the tide of mystery,
Like a waif, I'm seaward borne,
Ever looking for the morn
That will yet interpret Thee,

Opening my blinded eyes,
That have strove to look within,
'Whelmed in clouds of doubt and sin,
Sinking where I dared to rise:

Could I trace one Spirit's flight,
Track it to its final goal,
Know that 'Spirit' meant 'the Soul,'
I must perish in the light.

All in vain I search, and cry:
"What, O Soul, and whence art thou?"
Lower than the earth I bow,

Charles Sangster

Life Is The Body's Light

Life is the body's light; which, once declining,
Those crimson clouds i' th' cheeks and lips leave shining:
Those counter-changed tabbies in the air,
The sun once set, all of one colour are:
So, when death comes, fresh tinctures lose their place,
And dismal darkness then doth smutch the face.

Robert Herrick

Earth To Earth

What is the soul? Is it the wind
Among the branches of the mind?
Is it the sea against Time's shore
Breaking and broken evermore?
Is it the shore that breaks Time's sea,
The verge of vast Eternity?
And in the night is it the soul
Sleep needs must hush, must needs kiss whole?
Or does the soul, secure from sleep,
Safe its bright sanctities yet keep?
And oh, before the body's death
Shall the confined soul ne'er gain breath,
But ever to this serpent flesh
Subdue its alien self afresh?
Is it a bird that shuns earth's night,
Or makes with song earth's darkness bright?
Is it indeed a thought of God,
Or merest clod-fellow to clod?
A thought of God, and yet subdued
To any passion's apish mood?
Itself a God--and yet, O God,
As like to earth as c...

John Frederick Freeman