Classic Poem

Give pardon, blessed soul, to my bold cries
If they, importune, interrupt thy song,
Which now with joyful notes thou sing'st among
The angel-quirsters of heavenly skies.
Give pardon eke, sweet soul, to my slow eyes,
That since I saw thee now it is so long,
And yet the tears that unto thee belong
To thee as yet they did not sacrifice.

I did not know that thou wert dead before;
I did not feel the grief I did sustain;
The greater stroke astonisheth the more;
Astonishment takes from us sense of pain.
I stood amazed when other's tears begun,
And now begin to weep when they have done.