To Tirzah

Whate’er is born of mortal birth 
Must be consumèd with the earth, 
To rise from generation free: 
Then what have I to do with thee? 
The sexes sprung from shame and pride, 
Blowed in the morn, in evening died; 
But mercy changed death into sleep; 
The sexes rose to work and weep. 
Thou, mother of my mortal part, 
With cruelty didst mould my heart, 
And with false self-deceiving tears 
Didst blind my nostrils, eyes, and ears, 
Didst close my tongue in senseless clay, 
And me to mortal life betray. 
The death of Jesus set me free: 
Then what have I to do with thee?