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Benjamin Britten
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The Holy Sonnets of John Donne, op. 35: Sonnet VI: Oh my blacke Soule!
Oh my blacke Soule! now thou art summoned By sicknesse, death's 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 death's doome be read, Wisheth himselfe deliver'd from prison; But dam'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 thyselfe with holy mourning blacke, And red with blushing, as thou are with sinne; Or wash thee in Christ's blood, which hath this might That being red, it dyes red soules to white.
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