As I one evening sat before my cell, Methought a star did shoot into my lap. I rose and shook my clothes, as knowing well That from small fires comes oft no small mishap; When suddenly I heard one say, "Do as thou usest, disobey, Expel good motions from thy breast, Which have the face of fire, but end in rest." I, who had heard of music in the spheres, But not of speech in stars, began to muse; But turning to my God, whose ministers The stars and all things are: "If I refuse, Dread Lord," said I, "so oft my good, Then I refuse not ev'n with blood To wash away my stubborn thought; For I will do or suffer what I ought. "But I have also stars and shooters too, Born where thy servants both artilleries use. My tears and prayers night and day do woo And work up to thee; yet thou dost refuse. No but I am (I must say still) Much more obliged to do thy will Than thou to grant mine; but because Thy promise now hath ev'n set thee thy laws. "Then we are shooters both, and thou dost deign To enter combat with us, and contest With thine own clay. But I would parley fain: Shun not my arrows, and behold my breast. Yet it thou shunnest, I am thine: I must be so, if I am mine. There is no articling with thee: I am but finite, yet thine infinitely." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IT COULDN'T BE DONE by EDGAR ALBERT GUEST THE NEED FOR MEN by JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND CHRISTMAS AFTER WAR by KATHARINE LEE BATES AND THE DREAMERS OF DREAMS by JOHN OSCAR BECK THE STALLION OF NIGHT by WILLIAM ROSE BENET BLEUE MAISON by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |