The Golden Treasury of English Songs and Lyrics/Book 1/Poem 44
For other versions of this work, see Come Away, Death.
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,O prepare it!My part of death no one so trueDid share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweetOn my black coffin let there be strown;Not a friend, not a friend greetMy poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown:A thousand thousand sighs to save,Lay me, O whereSad true lover never find my grave.To weep there.W. Shakespeare