Verse > Anthologies > Francis T. Palgrave, ed. > The Golden Treasury
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Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury.  1875.
 
W. Shakespeare
 
XLIV. Dirge of Love
 
  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,         5
      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;  10
  Not a friend, not a friend greet 
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown: 
A thousand thousand sighs to save, 
      Lay me, oh, where 
Sad true lover never find my grave,  15
      To weep there. 
 
 
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