I bleed Sebastian's brother on the ground, No good it does me: or I hang my hand My harp-hand on the Haman tree, but no -- My blood smiles from the ground in pride, My hand makes music when winds blow. There is no martyrdom worse than a life, Nor can it be bought off with a sacrifice. I cannot cut my body to St. Peter's key, Or, nipping off the hip-rose with a knife Make me archangel, nor with a kiss Claim thirty shillings, for no one will buy The plaster Jesus that my master is, Crossed on my pain and crucified in my eye. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONGS FOR MY MOTHER: 3. HER WORDS by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD: PASTORAL 3. THE HAPPY COUNTRYMAN by NICHOLAS BRETON JOHN BROWN'S BODY by CHARLES SPRAGUE HALL SONGS by RICHARD HENRY STODDARD SONG: 5 by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM AT CLIFTON by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE BOHEMIANS OF BOSTON AND THEIR WAYS; A MEMORY OF THE JACOBEAN CRAZE by FRANK GELETT BURGESS |