COME, come! what do I here? Since he is gone Each day is grown a dozen year And each hour, one; Come, come! Cut off the sum: By these soil'd tears! Which only Thou Know'st to be true, Days are my fears. 2. There's not a wind can stir, Or beam pass by, But straight I think, though far, Thy hand is nigh. Come, come! Strike these lips dumb: This restless breath, That soils Thy name, Will ne'er be tame Until in death. 3. Perhaps some think a tomb No house of store, But a dark and seal'd up womb, Which ne'er breeds more. Come, come! Such thoughts benumb: But I would be With him I weep Abed, and sleep, To wake in Thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO R. B. by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS EPISTLE TO ROBERT, EARL OF OXFORD, AND EARL MORTIMER by ALEXANDER POPE A DESCRIPTION OF A CITY SHOWER by JONATHAN SWIFT LONDON, 1802 (2) by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH TO A BIRCH TREE by KENNETH SLADE ALLING |