Classic Poem

Pitiful mouth, saith he, that living gavest
The sweetest comfort that my soul could wish,
O! be it lawful now, that dead thou havest
This sorrowing farewell of a dying kiss;
And you, fair eyes, containers of my bliss,
Motives of love, born to be matched never,
Entombed in your sweet circles, sleep for ever.

Ah, how methinks I see death dallying seeks
To entertain itself in love's sweet place;
Decayed roses of discoloured cheeks
Do yet retain dear notes of former grace;
And ugly death sits fair within her face,
Sweet remnants resting of vermilion red,
That death itself doubts whether she be dead.

Wonder of beauty, O! receive these plaints,
These obsequies, the last that I shall make thee;
For lo! my soul that now already faints
(That loved thee living, dead will not forsake thee)
Hastens her speedy course to overtake thee.
I'll meet my death, and free myself thereby,
For, ah! what can he do that cannot die?

Yet ere I die, this much my soul doth vow,
Revenge shall sweeten death with ease of mind;
And I will cause posterity shall know
How fair thou wert above all women-kind,
And after ages monuments shall find
Showing thy beauty's title, not thy name,
Rose of the world, that sweetened so the same.