The play is done, the crowds depart and see That twisted tortured thing hung from a tree, Swart victim of a newer Calvary.
The play is done, the crowds depart and see That twisted tortured thing hung from a tree, Swart victim of a newer Calvary.
Some say no evil thing that walks by night, In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen, Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost That breaks his magic chains at curfew time, No goblin, or swart fairy of the mine, Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.
If thou that bid'st me be content wert grim,
Ugly, and sland'rous to thy mother's womb,
Full of unpleasing blots and sightless stains,
Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious,
Patch'd with foul moles and eye-offending marks,
I would not care, I then would be content;
For then I should not love thee; no, nor thou
Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories