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!

by William Shakespeare

Comments (11)

Nice poem
Death. I wonder how many poems have been written on this topic- there are probably paintings in caves about burial from centuries and centuries ago. The great poets like Shakespeare certainly cut their teeth on this topic- -yet we are no closer to having said all there is to be said.
A reflection on the theme of death and absurdity of life. SYLVA-ONYEMA
Not a flower, not a flower sweet. Nicely written and well communicated. SYLVA-ONYEMA
what a deep pathos in his words...can only sympathize.....touching poem
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