Classic Poem

DEATH. A LOVER. HIS DEAD MISTRESS ON A BIER

LOVER

Blind , silly Death, although you nothing care
For my despair,
Could you not see my darling was too fair
For earth to lose?

DEATH

The wit, when love comes to so quick a close,
Distempered goes —
No day but earth shall build bright limbs as those,
For me to bruise.

LOVER

Then, though the world is tearless for her sake,
Some pity take
Upon my dark immortal sorrow, — wake
This pretty one.

DEATH

Ten thousand years ago a lover cried,
" Ah, let betide
What may, my grief must ever more abide. "
His grief is done.

LOVER

She might have borne me children straight and strong,
To plough the long
Furrows, and make their ploughing in a song
Articulate.

DEATH

Still shall the green blades break upon the spring,
And song shall bring
Her liberty to every captive thing,
Early or late.

LOVER

Though, Death, you govern me in argument,
Still goes unspent
My grief, my grief. How shall I be content,
O King of Fear?

DEATH

I neither pity nor console. Farewell.
Bearers, the bell
Calls you. Alone his sorrow let him tell.
She will not hear.