I <br /> <br />When I perceive Love's heavenly reaping still <br />Regard perforce the clouds' vicissitude, <br />That the fixed spirit loves not when it will, <br />But craves its seasons of the flawful blood; <br />When I perceive that the high poet doth <br />Oft voiceless stray beneath the uninfluent stars, <br />That even Urania of her kiss is loath, <br />And Song's brave wings fret on their sensual bars; <br />When I perceived the fullest-sail-ed sprite <br />Lag at most need upon the leth-ed seas, <br />The provident captainship oft voided quite, <br />And lam-ed lie deep-draughted argosies; <br />I scorn myself, that put for such strange toys <br />The wit of man to purposes of boys. <br /> <br />II <br /> <br />The spirit's ark sealed with a little clay, <br />Was old ere Memphis grew a memory; <br />The hand pontifical to break away <br />That seal what shall surrender? Not the sea <br />Which did englut great Egypt and his war, <br />Nor all the desert-drown-ed sepulchres. <br />Love's feet are stained with clay and travel-sore, <br />And dusty are Song's lucent wing and hairs. <br />O Love, that must do courtesy to decay, <br />Eat hasty bread standing with loins up-girt, <br />How shall this stead thy feet for their sore way? <br />Ah, Song, what brief embraces balm thy hurt! <br />Had Jacob's toil full guerdon, casting his <br />Twice-seven heaped years to burn in Rachel's kiss?<br /><br />Francis Thompson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/house-of-bondage/
