Do not surcharge our souls with that vile blame <br />To which our bodies are subjected here; <br />Nor heap them with the horror of dull fear <br />Base-borrowed from a life of torpid shame. <br />But let them linger like a lovely flame <br />Above the clay to which they must cohere, <br />Lighting the earthly to the heavenly sphere <br />To meet the mystery from which they came. <br /> <br />As midnight drinks a message from the moon <br />And morning takes her orders from the sun, <br />So let our bodies to our souls submit <br />And live for ever in their still high-noon, <br />Where morn and midnight gather into one, <br />And only angels on their missions flit.<br /><br />Zora Bernice May Cross<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/love-sonnet-lviii/
