Sweet virgin, that I do not set The pillars up of weeping Jet, Or mournfull Marble; let thy shade Not wrathfull seem, or fright the Maide, Who hither at her wonted howers Shall come to strew thy earth with flowers. No, know (Blest Maide) when there's not one Remainder left of Brasse or stone, Thy living Epitaph shall be, Though lost in them, yet found in me. Dear, in thy bed of Roses, then, Till this world shall dissolve as men, Sleep, while we hide thee from the light, Drawing thy curtains round: Good night. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CITY VIGNETTE: RAIN AT NIGHT by SARA TEASDALE TO MY HONORED FRIEND SIR ROBERT HOWARD by JOHN DRYDEN MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG: HER DEATH by THOMAS HOOD SONNET: 87 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE TO THE STATES. TO IDENTIFY THE 16TH, 17TH, OR 18TH PRESIDENTIAD by WALT WHITMAN THE UNSPOKEN by ANNE MILLAY BREMER |