Oh my black soul! now art thou summoned <br />By sickness, death's herald, and champion; <br />Thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done <br />Treason, and durst not turn to whence he is fled; <br />Or like a thief, which till death's doom be read, <br />Wisheth himself delivered from prison, <br />But damned and haled to execution, <br />Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned. <br />Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lack; <br />But who shall give thee that grace to begin? <br />Oh make thy self with holy mourning black, <br />And red with blushing, as thou art with sin; <br />Or wash thee in Christ's blood, which hath this might <br />That being red, it dyes red souls to white.<br /><br />John Donne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/holy-sonnet-iv-oh-my-black-soul/
