Classic Poem

To these, whom Death again did wed,
This grave's the second Marriage-bed.
For though the hand of Fate could force
'Twixt Soul and Body a Divorce,
It could not sunder man and wife,
'Cause they both lived but one life.
Peace, good Reader. Doe not weep.
Peace, the Lovers are asleep.
They, sweet Turtles, folded lie
In the last knot Love could tie.
And though they lie as they were dead,
Their pillow stone, their sheetes of lead

(Pillow hard, and sheets not warm)
Love made the bed; they'll take no harm.
Let them sleep: let them sleep on,
Till this stormy night be gone,
Till the AEternal morrow dawn;
Then the curtaines will be drawn
And they wake into a light
Whose day shall never die in Night.