Oh my blacke Soule! now thou art summoned By sicknesse, deaths herald, and champion; Thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done Treason, and durst not turne to whence hee is fled, Or like a thiefe, which till deaths doome be read, Wisheth himselfe delivered from prison; But damn'd and hal'd to execution, Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned. Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lacke; But who shall give thee that grace to beginne? Oh make thy selfe with holy mourning blacke, And red with blushing, as thou art with sinne; Or wash thee in Christs blood, which hath this might That being red, it dyes red soules to white. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TEMPTRESS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE MAD WOMAN'S SONG by KAREN SWENSON NEW LOVE AND OLD by SARA TEASDALE THE IYYOB TRANSLATION FROM 'A-15' by LOUIS ZUKOFSKY THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE CRICKET by JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT THE VIRGIN'S SLUMBER SONG by JOSEPH FRANCIS CARLIN MACDONNELL JUGGLING JERRY by GEORGE MEREDITH SING-SONG; A NURSERY RHYME BOOK: 114 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI |