Anne Finch’s “Glass” speaks directly to humankind with a mix of awe and gentle scolding. She marvels at the invention of glass: how it lets sunlight pour indoors while keeping out the wind, how it’s drawn from fire and polished into a clear, icy sheet. Mirrors reflect our faces—handsome or plain—right back at us. Wine glasses reveal the drink’s rich color and movement, so we taste the “soul” while admiring the body. But the praise turns cautionary. That same transparency that shows off wine’s sparkle also warns against drunkenness, because people might eventually see straight through you. The speaker’s tone is warm and conversational, shifting from genuine wonder at human cleverness to a light but pointed reminder that clarity cuts both ways—and that a glass in the hand can lead to a visible loss of self-control.
Glass — Summary
O Man! what Inspiration was thy Guide, Who taught thee Light and Air thus to divide; To let in all the useful Beams of Day, Yet force, as subtil Winds, without thy Shash to stay; T'extract from Embers by a strange Device, Then polish fair these Flakes of solid Ice; Which, silver'd o'er, redouble all in place, And give thee back thy well or ill-complexion'd Face. To Vessels blown exceed the gloomy Bowl, Which did the Wine's full excellence controul, These shew the Body, whilst you taste the Soul. Its colour sparkles Motion, lets thee see, Tho' yet th' Excess the Preacher warns to flee, Lest Men at length as clearly spy through Thee.