Classic Poem

Poor mortals, that are clogged with earth below,
Sink under love and care,
While we, that dwell in air,
Such heavy passions never know.
Why then should mortals be
Unwilling to be free
From blood, the sullen cloud,
Which shining souls does shroud?
Then they'll show bright,
And like us light,
When leaving bodies with their care,
They slide to us and air.