Oft have I mused, but now at length I find Why those that die, men say they do depart; 'Depart', a word so gentle to my mind, Weakly did seem to paint death's ugly dart. But now the stars with their strange course do bind Me one to leave, with whom I leave my heart, I hear a cry of spirits faint and blind, That, parting thus, my chiefest part I part. Part of my life, the loathed part to me, Lives to impart my weary clay some breath; But that good part, wherein all comforts be, Now dead, doth show departure is a death, Yea, worse than death; death parts both woe and joy; From joy I part, still living in annoy. |