Classic Poem

Ah! lovely appearance of death!
No sight upon earth is so fair;
Not all the gay pageants that breathe
Can with a dead body compare.

With solemn delight I survey
The corpse when the spirit is fled;
In love with the beautiful clay,
And longing to lie in its stead.

How blest is our brother, bereft
Of all that could burthen his mind!
How easy the soul, that hath left
This wearisome body behind!

This languishing head is at rest,
Its thinking and aching are o'er;
This quiet immovable breast
Is heaved by affliction no more.

To mourn and to suffer is mine,
While bound in a prison I breathe,
And still for deliverance pine,
And press to the issues of death.

What now with my tears I bedew,
O! might I this moment become!
My spirit created anew,
My flesh be consigned to the tomb.