Classic Poem

When that my days are spent, (nor do
I know
Whether the sun will e'er immise
Light to mine eyes,)
Methinks a pious tear needs must
Offer some violence to my dust.

Dust ravell'd in the air will fly
Up high;
Mingled with water 'twill retire
Into the mire:
Why should my ashes not be free,
When Nature gave them liberty?

But when I go, I must them leave
In grave.
No floods can make my marble so,
As moist to grow.
Then spare your labour, since your dew
Cannot from ashes flowers renew.