Lord! when thou didst thyself undress Laying by thy robes of glory, To make us more, thou wouldst be less, And becam'st a woeful story. To put on clouds instead of light, And clothe the morning-star with dust, Was a translation of such height As, but in thee, was ne'er expressed; Brave worms and earth! that thus could have A God enclosed within your cell, Your maker pent up in a grave, Life locked in death, heav'n in a shell; Ah, my dear Lord! what couldst thou spy In this impure, rebellious clay, That made thee thus resolve to die For those that kill thee every day? O what strange wonders could thee move To slight thy precious blood and breath! Sure it was @3Love@1, my Lord; for @3Love@1 Is only stronger far than death. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SOLOMON TO SHEBA by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS QUIET WORK; SONNET by MATTHEW ARNOLD THE BROKEN PITCHER by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN A RENOUNCING OF LOVE by THOMAS WYATT ROBIN REDBREAST by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM A HIGHLAND VILLAGE by MATHILDE BLIND L'INDIFFERENT; WATTEAU; THE LOUVRE by KATHERINE HARRIS BRADLEY |