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Holy Sonnets - IV (em inglês)
(John Donne)
Oh my blacke Soule! now thou art summoned
By sicknesse, deaths herald, and champion; Thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done Treason, and durst not turne to whence hee is fled, Or like a thiefe, which till deaths doome be read, Wisheth himselfe delivered from prison; But damn'd and hal'd to execution, Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned. Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lacke; But who shall give thee that grace to beginne? Oh make thy selfe with holy mourning blacke, And red with blushing, as thou art with sinne; Or wash thee in Christs blood, which hath this might That being red, it dyes red soules to white. Autor: (John Donne) - Adicionado em: 18/08/2010 - Cliques: 119 - 0 comentários - [ envie o seu comentário ] [ envie esta poesia para um amigo ] › Adicione esta poesia aos favoritos: 
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