Go, soul, the body's guest,
Upon a thankless arrant.
Fear not to touch the best;
The truth shall by thy warrant.
Go, since I needs must die,
And give the world the lie.
Say to the court, it glows
And shines like rotten wood;
Say to the church, it shows
What's good, and doth no good:
If church and court reply
Then give them both the lie.
This poem in Turner's essay is so beautiful I had to share it on this blog...this is the essence of what intrigues me about poetry as an art form. (Corona, page 51)
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