Classic Poem

Sonnet xxvi

Let us each day enure our selves to dye,
If this (and not our Feares) be truely Death;
Above the Circles both of Hope and Faith
With faire immortall pinniones to flie?
If this be Death our best Part to untie
(By running the Jaile) from Lust and Wrath,
And every drowsie languor heere beneath,
In turning deniz'd Citizen of Skie?
To have, more knowledge than all Bookes containe,
All Pleasures even surmounting wishing Powre,
The fellowship of Gods immortall Traine,
And these that Time nor force shall er'e devoure?
If this be Death? what Joy, what golden care
Of Life, can with Deaths ouglinesse compare?