The scourge of life, and death's extreme disgrace, The smoke of hell, the monster called Pain, Long shamed to be accursed in every place By them who of his rude resort complain, Like crafty wretch, by time and travel taught His ugly evil in others' good to hide, Late harbours in her face, who nature wrought As treasure house, where her best gifts abide. And so, by privilege of sacred seat, A seat where beauty shines and virtue reigns, He hopes for some small praise, since she hath great, Within her beams wrapping his cruel stains. Ah, saucy Pain, let not thy error last; More loving eyes she draws, more hate thou hast. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EVOLUTION by JOHN BANISTER TABB AN ARAB WELCOME by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH HITOPADESA: DEDICATION by EDWIN ARNOLD RECOLLECTINS OF CHRIST'S HOSPITAL by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE LAST OF AUTUMN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN AT THE FIREMEN'S EXHIBITION by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB OLNEY HYMNS: 10. THE FUTURE PEACE AND GLORY OF THE CHURCH by WILLIAM COWPER |