PHILLIPS! the suff'rer less by law than pow'r, Though prison'd in an adamantine hold, May bear a heart as free and uncontroul'd In his dark cell, as in a summer's bow'r. The sly accuser—He, who in an hour When all suspicion slept, like Him of old Eve's Tempter, wreath'd in many an artful fold Conceal'd his drift with purpose to devour— He is the pris'ner, and those ribs within That hoop his sorry vitals round about Dwells one, who never shall compassion win Feel what he may, 'till Judgment call him out. Thou then less deeply at thy wrongs repine, Scorn is his meed, commiseration thine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE JOBHOLDER by DAVID IGNATOW NEBUCHADNEZZAR: OR EATING GRASS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS VARIATIONS FOR A SUMMER EVENING by MICHAEL ANANIA A LITTLE BOY LOST, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE EPITAPH ON THE MONUMENT OF SIR WILLIAM DYER by KATHERINE DYER A SUMMER NIGHT by GEORGE WILLIAM RUSSELL THE AFFECTIONATE SHEPHERD; OR COMPLAINT OF DAPHNIS by RICHARD BARNFIELD |