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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408466" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Exequy on his Wife</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">ACCEPT, thou shrine of my dead saint,<br>Instead of dirges this complaint;<br>And for sweet flowers to crown thy herse<br>Receive a strew of weeping verse<br>From thy grieved friend, whom thou might'st see<br>Quite melted into tears for thee.<br> Dear loss! since thy untimely fate,<br>My task hath been to meditate<br>On thee, on thee! Thou art the book,<br>The library whereon I look,<br>Tho' almost blind. For thee, loved clay,<br>I languish out, not live, the day....<br>Thou hast benighted me; thy set<br>This eve of blackness did beget,<br>Who wast my day (tho' overcast<br>Before thou hadst thy noontide past):<br>And I remember must in tears<br>Thou scarce hadst seen so many years<br>As day tells hours. By thy clear sun<br>My love and fortune first did run;<br>But thou wilt never more appear<br>Folded within my hemisphere,<br>Since both thy light and motion,<br>Like a fled star, is fall'n and gone,<br>And 'twixt me and my soul's dear wish<br>The earth now interposed is....<br> I could allow thee for a time<br>To darken me and my sad clime;<br>Were it a month, a year, or ten,<br>I would thy exile live till then,<br>And all that space my mirth adjourn--<br>So thou wouldst promise to return,<br>And putting off thy ashy shroud<br>At length disperse this sorrow's cloud.<br> But woe is me! the longest date<br>Too narrow is to calculate<br>These empty hopes: never shall I<br>Be so much blest as to descry<br>A glimpse of thee, till that day come<br>Which shall the earth to cinders doom,<br>And a fierce fever must calcine<br>The body of this world--like thine,<br>My little world! That fit of fire<br>Once off, our bodies shall aspire<br>To our souls' bliss: then we shall rise<br>And view ourselves with clearer eyes<br>In that calm region where no night<br>Can hide us from each other's sight.<br> Meantime thou hast her, earth: much good<br>May my harm do thee! Since it stood<br>With Heaven's will I might not call<br>Her longer mine, I give thee all<br>My short-lived right and interest<br>In her whom living I loved best.<br>Be kind to her, and prithee look<br>Thou write into thy Doomsday book<br>Each parcel of this rarity<br>Which in thy casket shrined doth lie,<br>As thou wilt answer Him that lent--<br>Not gave--thee my dear monument.<br>So close the ground, and 'bout her shade<br>Black curtains draw: my bride is laid.<br> Sleep on, my Love, in thy cold bed<br>Never to be disquieted!<br>My last good-night! Thou wilt not wake<br>Till I thy fate shall overtake:<br>Till age, or grief, or sickness must<br>Marry my body to that dust<br>It so much loves; and fill the room<br>My heart keeps empty in thy tomb.<br>Stay for me there: I will not fail<br>To meet thee in that hollow vale.<br>And think not much of my delay:<br>I am already on the way,<br>And follow thee with all the speed<br>Desire can make, or sorrows breed.<br>Each minute is a short degree<br>And every hour a step towards thee....<br> 'Tis true--with shame and grief I yield--<br>Thou, like the van, first took'st the field;<br>And gotten hast the victory<br>In thus adventuring to die<br>Before me, whose more years might crave<br>A just precedence in the grave.<br>But hark! my pulse, like a soft drum,<br>Beats my approach, tells thee I come;<br>And slow howe'er my marches be<br>I shall at last sit down by thee.<br> The thought of this bids me go on<br>And wait my dissolution<br>With hope and comfort. Dear--forgive<br>The crime--I am content to live<br>Divided, with but half a heart,<br>Till we shall meet and never part.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+King">Henry King</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408466" data-title="Exequy on his Wife de Henry King" data-description="ACCEPT, thou shrine of my dead saint,
Instead of dirges this complaint;
And for sweet flowers to crown thy herse
Receive a strew of weeping verse
From thy grieved friend, whom thou might'st see
Quite melted into tears for thee.
 Dear loss! since t..."></div>
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