My dearest dust, could not thy hasty day Afford thy drowzy patience leave to stay One hower longer so that we might either Sate up, or gone to bedd togther? But since thy finisht labor hath possest Thy weary limbs with early rest, Enjoy it sweetly and thy widdowe bride Shall soone repose her by thy slumbering side. Whose business, now, is only to prepare My nightly dress, and call to prayre: Mine eyes wax heavy and ye day growes old. The dew falls thick, my beloved growes cold. Draw, draw ye closed curtaynes: and make room: My dear, my dearest dust; i come, i come | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MOTHER (MARGERY CARRUTH, 1896-1981) by HAYDEN CARRUTH CHAMBER MUSIC: 11 by JAMES JOYCE LA RONDE DU DIABLE by AMY LOWELL THE MIDDLETON PLACE by AMY LOWELL THE FAMILY by KATHERINE MANSFIELD |