My God! looke on me with thine eye Of pittie, not of scrutinie; For if thou dost, thou then shalt see Nothing but loathsome sores in mee. O then! for mercies sake, behold These my irruptions manifold; And heale me with thy looke, or touch: But if thou wilt not deigne so much, Because I'me odious in thy sight, Speak but the word, and cure me quite. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GRANDFATHER'S LOVE by SARA TEASDALE OUR COUNTRY'S CALL by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT STANZAS TO A LADY, WITH THE POEMS OF CAMOENS by GEORGE GORDON BYRON ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF CLAPHAM ACADEMY by THOMAS HOOD BETSY'S BATTLE FLAG by MINNA IRVING ON THE UNIVERSITY CARRIER by JOHN MILTON |