“Upon a Wasp Chilled With Cold” – Edward Taylor

Edward Taylor is a Puritan poet whom I’ve recently rediscovered. I remember reading and analyzing his poetry back in an Honors English class in high school. The English teacher at my liberal, all-boys Catholic school had a strong prejudice against Puritan literature and poetry, which peaked especially in our study of Jonathan Edwards’ “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God.” Having grown up in a ‘jack catholic’ family, and holding no personal allegiance to the faith, I was able to read the Puritans without the same bias as my classmates, and I remember feeling a strange affinity for the “bigness” of the Puritan God; the strength of His judgement, juxtaposed with the tenderness of His mercy. I see now that God was wooing me even then. Taylor’s poems stick out like mountain peaks in my mind as I recall those days of searching for God in that place and feeling like I was stuck in the valley.

“Upon a Wasp Chilled With Cold” by Edward Taylor

The Bear that breathes the Northern blast
Did numb, Torpedo-like, a Wasp
Whose stiffened limbs encramped, lay bathing
In Sol’s warm breath and shine as saving,
Which with her hands she chafes and stands
Rubbing her Legs, Shanks, Thighs, and hands.
Her petty toes, and fingers’ ends
Nipped with this breath, she out extends
Unto the Sun, in great desire
To warm her digits at that fire.
Doth hold her Temples in this state
Where pulse doth beat, and head doth ache.
Doth turn, and stretch her body small,
Doth Comb her velvet Capital.
As if her little brain pan were
A Volume of Choice precepts clear.
As if her satin jacket hot
Contained Apothecary’s Shop
Of Nature’s receipts, that prevails
To remedy all her sad ails,
As if her velvet helmet high
Did turret rationality.
She fans her wing up to the Wind
As if her Pettycoat were lined,
With reason’s fleece, and hoists sails
And humming flies in thankful gales
Unto her dun Curled palace Hall
Her warm thanks offering for all.

Lord, clear my misted sight that I
May hence view Thy Divinity,
Some sparks whereof Thou up dost hasp
Within this little downy Wasp
In whose small Corporation we
A school and a schoolmaster see,
Where we may learn, and easily find
A nimble Spirit bravely mind
Her work in every limb: and lace
It up neat with a vital grace,
Acting each part though ne’er so small
Here of this Fustian animal,
Till I enravished Climb into
The Godhead on this Ladder do,
Where all my pipes inspired upraise
An Heavenly music furred with praise.

Analysis: Taylor observes the wasp and sees how she is warmed by the sun and brought out of her numb, chilled state and into glorious flight. So also, Taylor longs to bask in the sunlight of God’s grace and have his soul warmed and stirred into flights of praise for the goodness of God. There is the use of an emblem or conceit, an extended metaphor to illustrate an important theme. In this case, Taylor is saying that just as the wasp needs the sunlight to warm it from its frigid state, so we need God’s grace to thaw our frozen hearts and warm us so that we may praise God as we should.