Soul's joy, bend not those morning stars from me, Where virtue is made strong by beauty's might, Where love is chasteness, pain doth learn delight, And humbleness grows one with majesty. Whatever may ensue, O let me be Co-partner of the riches of that sight; Let not mine eyes be hell-driv'n from that light; O look, O shine, O let me die and see. For though I oft my self of them bemoan, That through my heart their beamy darts be gone, Whose cureless wounds even now most freshly bleed, Yet since my death wound is already got, Dear killer, spare not thy sweet cruel shot; A kind of grace is to slay with speed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE UNKNOWN EROS: BOOK 1: 10. THE TOYS by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE AD PATRIAM by CLINTON SCOLLARD IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 130 by ALFRED TENNYSON THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS ON A TOBACCO JAR by BERNARD BARKER SONNET: 4 by RICHARD BARNFIELD THE FIRST BUD O' THE YEAR by CHARLES GRANGER BLANDEN |