If hap it must, that I must see thee lie
Absyrtus-like, all torn confusedly;
With solemn tears, and with much grief of heart,
I'll recollect thee, weeping, part by part;
And having wash'd thee, close thee in a chest
With spice; that done, I'll leave thee to thy rest.
To His Book (5)
Robert Herrick
(1)
Poem topics: grief, heart, chest, wash, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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