Dirge - Poem By William Shakespeare

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!

William Shakespeare

Disclaimer: © Poems, pictures, or materials from other sources are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge. If need more information, please contact us here.
Related Posts
Disqus Comments
© Copyright 2017 Quotesa - All Rights Reserved - Created By BLAGIOKE Diberdayakan oleh Blogger