| |
| ACCEPT, thou shrine of my dead saint, | |
| Instead of dirges this complaint; | |
| And for sweet flowers to crown thy herse | |
| Receive a strew of weeping verse | |
| From thy grieved friend, whom thou might’st see | 5 |
| Quite melted into tears for thee. | |
| Dear loss! since thy untimely fate, | |
| My task hath been to meditate | |
| On thee, on thee! Thou art the book, | |
| The library whereon I look, | 10 |
| Tho’ almost blind. For thee, loved clay, | |
| I languish out, not live, the day…. | |
| Thou hast benighted me; thy set | |
| This eve of blackness did beget, | |
| Who wast my day (tho’ overcast | 15 |
| Before thou hadst thy noontide past): | |
| And I remember must in tears | |
| Thou scarce hadst seen so many years | |
| As day tells hours. By thy clear sun | |
| My love and fortune first did run; | 20 |
| But thou wilt never more appear | |
| Folded within my hemisphere, | |
| Since both thy light and motion, | |
| Like a fled star, is fall’n and gone, | |
| And ’twixt me and my soul’s dear wish | 25 |
| The earth now interposèd is…. | |
| I could allow thee for a time | |
| To darken me and my sad clime; | |
| Were it a month, a year, or ten, | |
| I would thy exile live till then, | 30 |
| And all that space my mirth adjourn— | |
| So thou wouldst promise to return, | |
| And putting off thy ashy shroud | |
| At length disperse this sorrow’s cloud. | |
| But woe is me! the longest date | 35 |
| Too narrow is to calculate | |
| These empty hopes: never shall I | |
| Be so much blest as to descry | |
| A glimpse of thee, till that day come | |
| Which shall the earth to cinders doom, | 40 |
| And a fierce fever must calcine | |
| The body of this world—like thine, | |
| My little world! That fit of fire | |
| Once off, our bodies shall aspire | |
| To our souls’ bliss: then we shall rise | 45 |
| And view ourselves with clearer eyes | |
| In that calm region where no night | |
| Can hide us from each other’s sight. | |
| Meantime thou hast her, earth: much good | |
| May my harm do thee! Since it stood | 50 |
| With Heaven’s will I might not call | |
| Her longer mine, I give thee all | |
| My short-lived right and interest | |
| In her whom living I loved best. | |
| Be kind to her, and prithee look | 55 |
| Thou write into thy Doomsday book | |
| Each parcel of this rarity | |
| Which in thy casket shrined doth lie, | |
| As thou wilt answer Him that lent— | |
| Not gave—thee my dear monument. | 60 |
| So close the ground, and ’bout her shade | |
| Black curtains draw: my bride is laid. | |
| Sleep on, my Love, in thy cold bed | |
| Never to be disquieted! | |
| My last good-night! Thou wilt not wake | 65 |
| Till I thy fate shall overtake; | |
| Till age, or grief, or sickness must | |
| Marry my body to that dust | |
| It so much loves; and fill the room | |
| My heart keeps empty in that tomb. | 70 |
| Stay for me there: I will not fail | |
| To meet thee in that hollow vale. | |
| And think not much of my delay: | |
| I am already on the way, | |
| And follow thee with all the speed | 75 |
| Desire can make, or sorrows breed. | |
| Each minute is a short degree | |
| And every hour a step towards thee…. | |
| ’Tis true—with shame and grief I yield— | |
| Thou, like the van, first tookst the field; | 80 |
| And gotten hast the victory | |
| In thus adventuring to die | |
| Before me, whose more years might crave | |
| A just precedence in the grave. | |
| But hark! my pulse, like a soft drum, | 85 |
| Beats my approach, tells thee I come; | |
| And slow howe’er my marches be | |
| I shall at last sit down by thee. | |
| The thought of this bids me go on | |
| And wait my dissolution | 90 |
| With hope and comfort. Dear—forgive | |
| The crime—I am content to live | |
| Divided, with but half a heart, | |
| Till we shall meet and never part. | |
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