My dearest dust, could not thy hasty day Afford thy drowzy patience leave to stay One hower longer so that we might either Sate up, or gone to bedd togther? But since thy finisht labor hath possest Thy weary limbs with early rest, Enjoy it sweetly and thy widdowe bride Shall soone repose her by thy slumbering side. Whose business, now, is only to prepare My nightly dress, and call to prayre: Mine eyes wax heavy and ye day growes old. The dew falls thick, my beloved growes cold. Draw, draw ye closed curtaynes: and make room: My dear, my dearest dust; i come, i come | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A PACIFIST FRIEND by GEORGE SANTAYANA FIFTH AVENUE-SPRING AFTERNOON by LOUIS UNTERMEYER ESTHER; A YOUNG MAN'S TRAGEDY: 50 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE BALLAD OF PROSE AND RHYME by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON CANZONET: TO HIS COY LOVE by MICHAEL DRAYTON BREAKFAST by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON COR CORDIUM by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE TENT ON THE BEACH: 3. THE GRAVE BY THE LAKE by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER |