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...MARRIAGE A LA MODE: SONG by JOHN DRYDEN SOLDIER: TWENTIETH CENTURY by ISAAC ROSENBERG AGAINST INDIFFERENCE by CHARLES WEBBE ORANGE BUDS BY MAIL FROM FLORIDA by WALT WHITMAN A SONG OF PROGRESS by ALEXANDER ANDERSON WHAT MAKES A NATION GREAT? by ALEXANDER BLACKBURN HUGH STUART BOYD: HIS DEATH, 1848 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |