The scourge of life, and death's extreme disgrace, The smoke of hell, the monster called Pain, Long shamed to be accursed in every place By them who of his rude resort complain, Like crafty wretch, by time and travel taught His ugly evil in others' good to hide, Late harbours in her face, who nature wrought As treasure house, where her best gifts abide. And so, by privilege of sacred seat, A seat where beauty shines and virtue reigns, He hopes for some small praise, since she hath great, Within her beams wrapping his cruel stains. Ah, saucy Pain, let not thy error last; More loving eyes she draws, more hate thou hast. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THAT VAGRANT MISTRAL VEXING THE SUN: A FAR CRY by DARA WIER AN ODE TO THE RAIN by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE AN INTERNATIONAL EPISODE (1889) by CAROLINE KING DUER THE POET'S SPEAR by ARCHILOCHUS BODY AND SOUL by AWHAD AD-DIN 'ALI IBN VAHID MUHAMMAD KHAVARANI CHILDREN OF LIGHT by BERNARD BARTON |