Classic Poem

Ah, cruel maid, because I see
You scornful of my love and me,
I'll trouble you no more, but go
My way, where you shall never know
What is become of me; there I
Will find me out a path to die,
Or learn some way how to forget
You and your name for ever. Yet,
Ere I go hence, know this from me,
What will, in time, your fortune be;
This to your coyness I will tell,
And having spoke it once, farewell.
The lily will not long endure,
Nor the snow continue pure;
The rose, the violet, one day
See, both these lady-flowers decay:
And you must fade, as well as they.
And it may chance that love may turn,
And (like to mine) make your heart burn
And weep to see't; yet this thing do,
That my last vow commends to you:
When you shall see that I am dead,
For pity let a tear be shed;
And (with your mantle o'er me cast)
Give my cold lips a kiss at last;
If twice you kiss, you need not fear
That I shall stir, or live more here.
Next, hollow out a tomb to cover
Me; me, the most despisèd lover:
And write thereon, This, reader, know,
Love killed this man. No more but so.