Classic Poem

I go Dear Saint away,
Snatch'd from thy arms
By farre lesse pleasing charms,
Then those I did obay;
But when hereafter thou shalt know
That grief hath slain me, come
And on my Tombe
Drop, drop a tear or two;
Break with thy sighs the silence of my sleep,
And I shall smile in death to see thee weep.

Thy tears may have the power
To reinspire
My ashes with new fire,
Or change me to some flower,
Which planted 'twixt thy breasts shall grow:
Vail'd in this shape, I will
Dwell with thee still,
Court, kisse, enjoy thee too:
Securely wee'l contemne all envious force,
And thus united be by deaths divorce.