And since thou so desirously Did'st long to die, that long before thou could'st, And long since thou no more couldst dye, Thou in thy scatter'd mystique body wouldst In Abel dye, and ever since In thine; let their blood come To begge for us, a discreet patience Of death, or of worse life: for Oh, to some Not to be Martyrs, is a martyrdome. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO MY FATHER by WILLIAM SYDNEY GRAHAM INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF MY UNCLE ARLY by EDWARD LEAR RUTH by CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER VERSES TO SOME FRIENDS RETURNING FROM THE SEA-SIDE by BERNARD BARTON QUEEN MARY'S LETTER TO BOTHWELL by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |