Classic Poem

Sure, there's a tye of Bodyes! and as they
Dissolve (with it,) to Clay,
Love languisheth, and memory doth rust
O'r-cast with that cold dust;
For things thus Center'd , without Beames , or Action
Nor give, nor take Contaction ,
And man is such a Marygold, these fled,
That shuts, and hangs the head.


2.

Absents within the Line Conspire, and Sense
Things distant doth unite,
Herbs sleep unto the East ; and some fowles thence
Watch the Returns of light;
But hearts are not so kind: false, short delights
Tell us the world is brave,
And wrap us in Imaginary flights
Wide of a faithfull grave;
Thus Lazarus was carried out of town;
For 'tis our foes chief art
By distance all good objects first to drown,
And then besiege the heart.
But I will be my own Deaths-head ; and though
The flatt'rer say, I live ,
Because Incertainties we cannot know
Be sure, not to believe.