Verse > Anthologies > Francis T. Palgrave, ed. > The Golden Treasury
Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury.  1875.
W. Shakespeare
XLIV. Dirge of Love
  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,         5
      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;  10
  Not a friend, not a friend greet 
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown: 
A thousand thousand sighs to save, 
      Lay me, oh, where 
Sad true lover never find my grave,  15
      To weep there. 

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