That Morne which saw me made a Bride, The Ev'ning witnest that I dy'd. Those holy lights, wherewith they guide Unto the bed the bashfull Bride; Serv'd, but as Tapers, for to burne, And light my Reliques to their Urne. This Epitaph, which here you see, Supply'd the Epithalamie. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TROILUS AND CRESSIDA: SONG by JOHN DRYDEN THE YOUNG GLASS-STAINER by THOMAS HARDY SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT [1583] by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW OUR BIRTH-CORD by KOFI ANYIDOHO CORRESPONDENCES by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE |