Mortal Paramour

The Almighty hand that mix'd thy dust inscribed The character of wisdom on thy heart; O cleanse thy bosom of material form, And turn the mirror of the soul to spirit, Until it be with spirit all possest, Crown'd in the light of intellectual truth. O veil thine eyes from mortal paramour, And follow not her step! For what is she?-- What is she but a vice and a reproach, Her very garment-hem pollution! For such pollution madden not thine eyes, Waste not thy body's strength, nor taint thy soul, Nor set the body and the soul in strife! Supreme is thine original degree, Thy star upon the top of heaven; but lust Will fling it down even unto the dust!