O Holy Ghost, whose temple I Am, but of mudde walls, and condensed dust, And being sacrilegiously Halfe wasted with youths fires, of pride and lust, Must with new stormes be weatherbeat; Double in my heart thy flame, Which let devout sad teares intend; and let (Though this glasse lanthorne, flesh, do suffer maime) Fire, Sacrifice, Priest, Altar be the same. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE NEGRO DANCERS by CLAUDE MCKAY HE'D BE NOTHING BUT HIS VIOLIN by MARY KYLE DALLAS IN THE VALLEY OF THE ELWY by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS VINCENT VAN GOGH by HARRIET R. BEAN DEDICATION OF THE DESIGNS TO BLAIR'S GRAVE: TO THE QUEEN by WILLIAM BLAKE SAINT SEBASTIAN by VALERY YAKOVLEVICH BRYUSOV |