Monday, March 08, 2004

A Dialogue Between The Soul And The Body

A Dialogue Between The Soul And Body
( by Andrew Marvell 1621-1678)

O who shall,from this Dungeon,raise
A Soul inslav'd so many wayes?
With bolts of Bones that fetter'd stands
in Feet;and manacled in Hands.
Here blinded with an Eye;and there
Deaf with the drumming of an Ear.
A Soul hung up,as't were in Chains
Of Nerves,and Arteries,and Veins.
Tortur'd,besides each other part.
In a vain Head and double Heart.

O who shall me deliver whole
>From bounds of this Tyrannic Soul?
Which,stretcht upright,impales me so,
That mine own Precipice I go:
And warms and moves this needless Frame:
(A fever could but do the same.)
And wanting where its spight to try.
Has made me live to let me dye.
A Body that could never rest.
Since this ill Spirit is possest.

What Magick could me thus confine
Within anothers Grief to pine?
Where whatsoever it complain
I feel,that cannot feel,the pain.
And all my Care its self employes,
That to preserve,which me destroys:
Constrain'd not only to indure
Diseases, but,whats worse,the Cure:
And ready oft the Port to gain.
A shipwrackt into Health again.

But Physick yet could never reach
The Maladies Thou me dost teach;
Whom first the Cramp of Hope does Tear:
And then the Palsie Shakes of Fear.
The Pestilence of Love does heat:
Or Hatred's hidden Ulcer eat.
Joy's chearful Madness does perplex:
Or Sorrow's other Madness vex.
Which Knowledge forces me to know;
And Memory will not forgoe.
What but a Soul could have the wit
To built me up for Sin so fit?
So Architects do square and hew.
Green Trees that in the Forest grew.

Comment: This is me WHOW poem !!!


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