Thou know'st, my Julia, that it is thy turne This Mornings Incense to prepare, and burne. The Chaplet, and Inarculum here be, With the white Vestures, all attending Thee. This day, the Queen-Priest, thou art made t'appease Love for our very-many Trespasses. One chiefe transgression is among the rest, Because with Flowers her Temple was not drest: The next, because her Altars did not shine With daily Fyers: The last, neglect of Wine: For which, her wrath is gone forth to consume Us all, unlesse preserv'd by thy Perfume. Take then thy Censer; Put in Fire, and thus, O Pious-Priestresse! make a Peace for us. For our neglect, Love did our Death decree, That we escape. Redemption comes by Thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CHALLENGE by ALEXANDER POPE SHERIDAN'S RIDE [DECEMBER 19, 1864] by THOMAS BUCHANAN READ WAR AND WASHINGTON by JONATHAN MITCHELL SEWALL HYMN TO SCIENCE by MARK AKENSIDE PETITION (1) by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE LIFE AND LOVE by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |