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...A SOLDIER LISTENS by JEAN STARR UNTERMEYER ON THE BUST OF HELEN BY CANOVA by GEORGE GORDON BYRON TO THE MEMORY OF BEN JONSON by JOHN CLEVELAND AMONG THE REDWOODS by EDWARD ROWLAND SILL BEING RETIRED, COMPLAINS AGAINST THE COURT by PHILIP AYRES |