My mistress’ bedde, my wylling scholeroom is, <br />where I do lerne my eager pupille’s taske; <br />her scorns, her prayse, to me as equalle are; <br />her swete chastisement, alle thatte I may aske; <br /> <br />In her anatomie, I lerne newe worldes; <br />I am Columbus, sayling to strange shores, <br />fynde alle thynges newe; I am as one fresshe-taughte; <br />nought of our schyppe to speke of myne or yours; <br /> <br />Whanne infants, we are all shored safelie uppe <br />by parentes luve, upon us richlie pored; <br />but thenne, in’th torment of our growing yeares, <br />where mighte we lerne where alle thysse luve is stored? <br /> <br />Where is the hertes academie, to teche <br />thysse bloody, beating, untaughte, human place, <br />where hevenes Creator meetes thysse mortal coil, <br />whatte is its role and rule, whatte it muste face? <br /> <br />Too layte, too layte, to tayke a lyfe to lerne <br />thysse herte to growe, and swell, and gratelie strive; <br />where is the hertes academie, whanne younge, <br />to sooner teche oure hertes with luve to thrive?<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hertes-academie-a-metaphysical-exercise/
