O thou that after toil and storm Mayst seem to have reach'd a purer air, Whose faith has centre everywhere, Nor cares to fix itself to form, Leave thou thy sister when she prays Her early heaven, her happy views; Nor thou with shadow'd hint confuse A life that leads melodious days. Her faith thro' form is pure as thine, Her hands are quicker unto good. O, sacred be the flesh and blood To which she links a truth divine! See thou, that countest reason ripe In holding by the law within, Thou fail not in a world of sin, And even for want of such a type. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...YOU ARE FIRE EATERS by MARIANNE MOORE THE OVIDIAN ELEGIAC METRE, DESCRIBED AND EXEMPLIFIED by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE BLIND by LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE SONNET: 4 by RICHARD BARNFIELD ROSES IN THE SUBWAY by DANA BURNET INSCRIPTION FOR THE DOOR OF [BROWNRIGG'S] CELL IN NEWGATE by GEORGE CANNING |