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,
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;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corse, where my bones shall be thrown:
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O, where
Sad true lover never find my grave
To weep there!
|About the poet|
|By the same poet|
|Spring and Winter (i)|
|Spring and Winter (ii)|
|Fairy Land (i)|
|Fairy Land (ii)|
|Fairy Land (iii)|
|Fairy Land (iv)|
|Fairy Land (v)|
|Under the Greenwood Tree|
|Blow, blow, thou Winter Wind|
|It was a Lover and his Lass|
|Take, O take those Lips away|
|The Phoenix and the Turtle|
|William Shakespeare at amazon.co.uk|