ON FALLING ILL THROUGH GRIEF <br />Truce to thee, Soul! I have a debt to pay, <br />Which I acknowledge and without thy pleading. <br />I like thee little that thou barrest my way <br />With prayers too late for one well past thy heeding, <br />Truce to these tears! Thy fellow lieth bleeding, <br />Wounded by thee; and thou, forsooth, dost say, <br />``I have a servant who is sick and needing <br />Care at men's hands.'' The care was thine to pay. <br />--When this same Soul was sick, a while ago, <br />The Body watched her, till his eyes grew dim <br />And his cheeks pale for very sympathy, <br />Because she grieved. His love has wrought him woe, <br />For he is sick and she despiseth him. <br />Poor Body, I must take some thought of thee.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-love-sonnets-of-proteus-part-i-to-manon-xx/
