Classic Poem

Why dost thou bend my soul? Why dost thou groan breast-deep? Why dost thou bathe in the dust? Why dost thou cleanse thyself with ashes, like birds in heat that are timorous of water and cool themselves with sod and refresh themselves with dung?
Why dost thou bend my soul? Why dost thou groan breast-deep? Like the seething of fresh blood on mute red stone; like the seething that never quiets down through chaste and pure innocence — until pious seething blood spills over it with tremour .
Bend then my soul, groan then from deep breast and be through ashes purified and cleansed through blood, and gentle through tremor, serene through weeping, and let thy great ruin and rift become a flood of light to thee .