Dirge

By William Shakespeare

1564-1616


COME away, come away, death,
         And in sad cypres let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath;
         I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
         O prepare it!
My part of death, no one so true
         Did share it.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
         On my black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
         My poor corse, where my bones shall be thrown:
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
         Lay me, O, where
Sad true lover never find my grave
         To weep there!

DayPoems Poem No. 136
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/136.html">Dirge by William Shakespeare</a>

The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor

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