Listen, for this is literature: 

If some king of the earth have so large an extent of dominion, in north, and south, so that he hath winter and summer together in his dominions, so large an extent east and west as that he hath day and night together in his dominions, much more hath God mercy and judgement together:  He brought light out of darkness, not out of a lesser light; he can bring thy summer out of winter, though thou have no spring; though in the ways of fortune, or understanding, or conscience, thou have been benighted till now, wintered and frozen, clouded and eclipsed, damped and benumbed, smothered and stupefied till now, now God comes to thee, not as in the dawning of the day, not as in the bud of the spring, but as the sun at noon to illustrate all shadows, as the sheaves in harvest, to fill all penuries, all occasions invite his mercies, and all times are his seasons[1].

But listen again, for this also is literature: 

  A sweet disorder in the dress
  Kindles in clothes a wantonness: 
  A lawn about the shoulders thrown
  Into a fine distraction: 
  An erring lace, which here and there
  Enthrals the crimson stomacher: 
  A cuff neglectful, and thereby
  Ribbons to flow confusedly: 
  A winning wave, deserving note,
  In the tempestuous petticoat: 
  A careless shoe-string, in whose tie
  I see a wild civility: 
  Do more bewitch me than when art
  Is too precise in every part.

Here again is literature: 

When I was a child, at seven years old, my friends on a holiday filled my pockets with coppers.  I went directly to a shop where they sold toys for children; and being charmed with the sound of a whistle that I met by the way in the hands of another boy, I voluntarily offered him all my money for one.  I then came home and went whistling all over the house, much pleased with my whistle but disturbing all the family.  My brothers and sisters and cousins, understanding the bargain I had made, told me I had given four times as much for it as it was worth ...  The reflection gave me more chagrin than the whistle gave me pleasure. [BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.]

Of a bridal, this is literature: 

     Open the temple gates unto my love,
     Open them wide that she may enter in!

But so also is Suckling’s account of a wedding that begins

     I tell thee, Dick, where I have been.

This is literature: 

  And a man shall be as an hiding place from the wind, and
    a covert from the tempest;
  As rivers of water in a dry place,
  As the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.

But so is this literature: