MY silks and fine array, My smiles and languish'd air, By Love are driven away; And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave: Such end true lovers have. His face is fair as heaven When springing buds unfold: O why to him was 't given, Whose heart is wintry cold? His breast is Love's all-worshipp'd tomb, Where all Love's pilgrims come. Bring me an axe and spade, Bring me a winding-sheet; When I my grave have made, Let winds and tempests beat: Then down I'll lie, as cold as clay: True love doth pass away! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UPON DRINKING IN A BOWL by ANACREON THE SEA-MEW by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING ALEXANDER CRUMMELL - DEAD by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE LOVER COMFORTETH HIMSELF WITH THE WORTHINESS OF HIS LOVE by HENRY HOWARD AT A VACATION EXERCISE IN THE COLLEGE by JOHN MILTON VALENTINES TO MY MOTHER: 1885 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI |