Lord, do away my Motes: and Mountains great. My nut is vitiate. Its kirnell rots: Come, kill the Worm, that doth its kirnell eate And strike thy sparkes within my tinderbox. Drill through my metall-heart an hole wherein With graces Cotters to thyselfe it pin. A Lock of Steel upon my Soule, whose key The serpent keeps, I fear, doth lock my doore. O pick't: and through the key-hole make thy way And enter in: and let thy joyes run o're. My Wards are rusty. Oyle them till they trig Before thy golden key: thy Oyle makes glib. Take out the Splinters of the World that stick Do in my heart: Friends, Honours, Riches, and The Shivers in't of Hell whose venoms quick And firy make it swoln and ranckling stand. These wound and kill: those shackle strongly to Poore knobs of Clay, my heart. Hence sorrows grow. Cleanse, and enlarge my kask: It is too small: And tartarizd with worldly dregs dri'de in't. It's bad mouth'd too: and though thy joyes do Call That boundless are, it ever doth them stint. Make me thy Chrystall Caske: those wines in't tun That in the Rivers of thy joyes do run. Lord make me, though suckt through a straw or Quill, Tast of the Rivers of thy joyes, some drop. 'Twill sweeten me: and all my Love distill Into thy glass, and me for joy make hop. 'Twill turn my water into wine: and fill My Harp with Songs my Masters joyes distill. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ECHOING GREEN, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE PISGAH SIGHTS by ROBERT BROWNING EPITAPH ON AN ARMY OF MERCENARIES by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW PORTRAIT BY A NEIGHBOR by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY THE LORDS OF THE MAIN by JOSEPH STANSBURY THE ELF CHILD by GEORGE LAWRENCE ANDREWS THE 'STAY AT HOME'S' PLAINT, 1878 by GEORGE AUGUSTUS BAKER JR. |