1. SOme dull Philosopher, when he hears me say, My Soule is from me fled away; Nor has of late inform'd my Body here, But in another's breast does lye, That neither is, nor will be I, As a Form Servient, and Assisting there. 2. Will cry, Absurd! and ask me, how I live, And Syllogismes against it give: A curse on all your vain Philosophies, Which on weak Nature's Law depend, And know not how to comprehend Love and Religion, those great Mysteries. 3. Her Body is my Soule; laugh not at this, For by my life I swear it is. 'Tis that preserves my Being and my Breath, From that proceeds all that I doe, Nay all my Thoughts and speeches too; And separation from it is my Death. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PALM TREE by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS THE SOLITARY WOODSMAN by CHARLES GEORGE DOUGLAS ROBERTS THE OLD LOBSTERMAN by JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE THE STEAM-ENGINE: CANTO 9: GREAT WESTERN DAYS by T. BAKER VILLANELLE by JOACHIM DU BELLAY THE CONVERSION by RALPH WILHELM BERGENGREN IDYLL 1. THE EPITAPH OF ADONIS by BION THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 38. TO ONE NOW ESTRANGED by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |