Thou know'st, my Julia, that it is thy turne This Mornings Incense to prepare, and burne. The Chaplet, and Inarculum here be, With the white Vestures, all attending Thee. This day, the Queen-Priest, thou art made t'appease Love for our very-many Trespasses. One chiefe transgression is among the rest, Because with Flowers her Temple was not drest: The next, because her Altars did not shine With daily Fyers: The last, neglect of Wine: For which, her wrath is gone forth to consume Us all, unlesse preserv'd by thy Perfume. Take then thy Censer; Put in Fire, and thus, O Pious-Priestresse! make a Peace for us. For our neglect, Love did our Death decree, That we escape. Redemption comes by Thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COLUMBIAN ODE by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR LEARNING TO READ by FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS HARPER THE WORD by WILLIAM WALSHAM HOW THE SPIDER AND THE FLY by MARY HOWITT THE WEATHER-COCK POINTS SOUTH by AMY LOWELL TO MR. THOMAS SOUTHERNE, ON HIS BIRTHDAY, 1742 by ALEXANDER POPE BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER by WALLACE RICE |