William Shakespeare (1564-1616) – Dirge
COME away, come away, death,
And in sad cypres let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
O prepare it!
My part of death, no one so true
Did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
On my black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corse, where my bones shall be thrown:
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O, where
Sad true lover never find my grave
To weep there!
Posted on May 27, 2012, in Art, Artists, Best Poems, Culture, Education, English poetry, Great Poems, Great Poems, Literature, Poetry, Poetry in English, Poets, William Shakespeare, Writers and tagged Dirge, English poets, English writers, gaming, Great Poems, Great Poets, Great Writers, inspiration, love, people, relationships, true lover, William Shakespeare, Writers. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.
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