THOU need'st no tomb, my wife, for thou hast one, To which all marble is but pumex stone; Thou art engrav'd so deeply in my heart, It shall outlast the strongest hand of Art. Death shall not blot thee thence, although I must In all my other parts dissolve to dust; For thy dear name, thy happy memory, May so embalm it for eternity, That when I rise, the name of my dear wife Shall there be seen as in the book of life. |