Classic Poem

Oh! lead me where my darling lies,
Cold as the marble stone;
I will recall her with my cries,
And wake her with my moan.

Come from thy bed of clay, my dear,
See where thy father stands;
His soul he sheds out tear by tear,
And wrings his wretched hands.

But Ah! Alas! thou can'st not rise,
Alas! thou can'st not hear,
Or at thy tender father's cries
Thou surely would'st appear.

Since, then, my love, my soul's delight,
Thou can'st not come to me,
Rather than want thy pleasing sight
I'll dig my way to thee.