Some, misbelieving and profane in love, When I do speak of miracles by thee, May say, that thou art flattered by me, Who only write my skill in verse to prove. See miracles, ye unbelieving, see A dumb-born Muse made t'express the mind, A cripple hand to write, yet lame by kind, One by thy name, the other touching thee; Blind were mine eyes, till they were seen of thine, And mine ears deaf by thy fame healed be, My vices cur'd by virtues sprung from thee, My hopes reviv'd, which long in grave had lien, All unclean thoughts, foul spirits, cast out in me Only by virtue that proceeds from thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MARIA CALLAS, THE WOMAN BEHIND THE LEGEND* by MADELINE DEFREES CURTAIN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ENVOYS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SEPULCHRE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON WHEN I RISE UP by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MOTHER JUNKIE by CLARENCE MAJOR |