Lord! when thou didst thyself undress Laying by thy robes of glory, To make us more, thou wouldst be less, And becam'st a woeful story. To put on clouds instead of light, And clothe the morning-star with dust, Was a translation of such height As, but in thee, was ne'er expressed; Brave worms and earth! that thus could have A God enclosed within your cell, Your maker pent up in a grave, Life locked in death, heav'n in a shell; Ah, my dear Lord! what couldst thou spy In this impure, rebellious clay, That made thee thus resolve to die For those that kill thee every day? O what strange wonders could thee move To slight thy precious blood and breath! Sure it was @3Love@1, my Lord; for @3Love@1 Is only stronger far than death. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MY PRETTY ROSE TREE, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE JEALOUSY by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE I AM NOT YOURS by SARA TEASDALE WITH MY CIGAR by JOHN CLINTON ANTHONY A NAMELESS EPITAPH (2) by MATTHEW ARNOLD |