A Convent Wothout God
Wilfrid Scawen Blunt 1840 (Petworth House) – 1922 (United Kingdom)
A prison is a convent without God.
Poverty, Chastity, Obedience
Its precepts are. In this austere abode
None gather wealth of pleasure or of pence.
Woman's light wit, the heart's concupiscence
Are banished here. At the least warder's nod
Thy neck shall bend in mute subservience.
Nor yet for virtue--rather for the rod.
Here a base turnkey novice--master is,
Teaching humility. The matin bell
Calls thee to toil, but little comforteth.
None heed thy prayers or give the kiss of peace.
Nathless, my soul, be valiant. Even in Hell
Wisdom shall preach to thee of life and death.
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 30 sec read
- 36 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | ABXXBABA XCDXCD |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 570 |
Words | 100 |
Stanzas | 2 |
Stanza Lengths | 8, 6 |
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"A Convent Wothout God" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 12 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/38572/a-convent-wothout-god>.
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