Classic Poem

lover: Your Beauty, ripe, and calm, and fresh,
As Eastern Summers are,
Must now, forsaking Time and Flesh,
Add light to some small Star.

philosopher: Whilst she yet lives, were Stars decay'd,
Their light by hers, relief might find:
But Death will lead her to a shade
Where Love is cold, and Beauty blinde.

lover: Lovers (whose Priests all Poets are)
Think ev'ry Mistress, when she dies,
Is chang'd at least into a Starr:
And who dares doubt the Poets wise?

philosopher: But ask not Bodies doom'd to die,
To what abode they go;
Since Knowledge is but sorrows Spy,
It is not safe to know.