Take me down, if you can, from this self-erected cross
Where hang the lusts of gain, and reviles of loss;
Misplaced suns, misread moons, and shattered visions fill my skies
I'd shrink from this carnal cross of life, not even knowing why
Whet my tongue, if you will, to the draught of life renewed
That burns my scarred, inflaméd throat with honey-dew;
Dance, virtuous angel, more gaily than your veiled counterpart!
So I may nail half myself to wood, then rise free with lighter heart |