Laid out for dead, let thy last kindnesse be With leaves and mosse-work for to cover me: And while the Wood-nimphs my cold corps inter, Sing thou my Dirge, sweet-warbling Chorister! For Epitaph, in Foliage, next write this, Here, here the Tomb of Robin Herrick is. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MEETING AND PASSING by ROBERT FROST A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING AT SUNSET TIME by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE BLACKBIRD by WILLIAM BARNES THE FOREST PINE by LAURENCE BINYON ON F----- & S----- by WILLIAM BLAKE DECEMBER'S GIFT by DEBRA BRUCE THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: A LETTER TO CORDELIA by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |