And since thou so desirously Did'st long to die, that long before thou could'st, And long since thou no more couldst dye, Thou in thy scatter'd mystique body wouldst In Abel dye, and ever since In thine; let their blood come To begge for us, a discreet patience Of death, or of worse life: for Oh, to some Not to be Martyrs, is a martyrdome. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: JUNE by EDMUND SPENSER THE LYRICS POET'S APOLOGY by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON DON JUAN: CANTO 10 by GEORGE GORDON BYRON SECOND BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 20 by THOMAS CAMPION CINQUAIN: CATERPILLAR by KENNETH CHING |