I bleed Sebastian's brother on the ground, No good it does me: or I hang my hand My harp-hand on the Haman tree, but no -- My blood smiles from the ground in pride, My hand makes music when winds blow. There is no martyrdom worse than a life, Nor can it be bought off with a sacrifice. I cannot cut my body to St. Peter's key, Or, nipping off the hip-rose with a knife Make me archangel, nor with a kiss Claim thirty shillings, for no one will buy The plaster Jesus that my master is, Crossed on my pain and crucified in my eye. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOVE BEING ALL ONE by ROBERT FROST SONNET TO GUIDO CAVALCANTI by DANTE ALIGHIERI THE CLOAK by ANNA LOUISE BARNEY HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 40 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH THE STRING AROUND MY FINGER by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD SLEEP NOT, DREAM NOT by EMILY JANE BRONTE |