Soul's joy, bend not those morning stars from me, Where virtue is made strong by beauty's might, Where love is chasteness, pain doth learn delight, And humbleness grows one with majesty. Whatever may ensue, O let me be Co-partner of the riches of that sight; Let not mine eyes be hell-driv'n from that light; O look, O shine, O let me die and see. For though I oft my self of them bemoan, That through my heart their beamy darts be gone, Whose cureless wounds even now most freshly bleed, Yet since my death wound is already got, Dear killer, spare not thy sweet cruel shot; A kind of grace is to slay with speed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BROOKLYN BRIDGE [MAY 24, 1883] by EDNA DEAN PROCTOR PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 53. ALLAH-AL-WAKIL by EDWIN ARNOLD THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER by JOANNA BAILLIE BOX-CAR LETTERS by KARLE WILSON BAKER ON SENDING MY SON AS A PRESENT TO DR. SWIFT by MARY BARBER HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 37 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |