Dear Reliques of a dislodg'd SOUL, whose lack Makes many a mourning paper put on black! O stay a while, ere thou draw in thy head And wind thy self up close in thy cold bed. Stay but a little while, untill I call A summons worthy of thy funerall. Come then, YOUTH, BEAUTY, and blood! All ye soft powres, Whose sylken flatteryes swell a few fond howres Into a false aeternity. Come man; Hyperbolized NOTHING! know thy span; Take thine own measure here: down, down, and bow Before thy self in thine idaea; thou Huge emptynes! contract thy self; and shrinke All thy wild circle to a Point. O sink Lower and lower yet; till thy leane size Call heavn to look on thee with narrow eyes. Lesser and lesser yet; till thou begin To show a face, fitt to confesse thy Kin, Thy neighbourhood to NOTHING. Proud lookes, and lofty eyliddes, here putt on Your selves in your unfaign'd reflexion, Here, gallant ladyes! this unpartial glasse (Though you be painted) showes you your true face. These death-seal'd lippes are they dare give the ly To the lowd Boasts of poor Mortality These curtain'd windows, this retired eye Outstares the liddes of larg-look't tyranny. This posture is the brave one; this that lyes Thus low, stands up (me thinkes,) thus and defies The world. All-daring dust and ashes! only you Of all interpreters read Nature True. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RIVER OF LIFE by THOMAS CAMPBELL DIBDIN'S GHOST by EUGENE FIELD LAUS VENERIS by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE CASTOR AND POLYDEUCES by ALCAEUS OF MYTILENE A HEART-HAUNTED HOME by JANE BARLOW S. JAMES YE APOSTLE by JOSEPH BEAUMONT PSALM 104, SELECTION by RICHARD BLACKMORE |