Come away, come away, Death,
And in sad cypress let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
O prepare it!
My part of death no one so true
Did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet
On my black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown;
Lay me, O where
Sad true lover never find my grave,
To weep there.
-SHAKESPEARE-
YOU ARE READING
Paperback in Time
PoetrySo when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And music shall untune the sky. -Dryden This book is an idea I've been wanting to do for awhile. It's bas...
