In this little vault she lies,
Here, with all her jealousies:
Quiet yet; but if ye make
Any noise they both will wake,
And such spirits raise 'twill then
Trouble death to lay again.
Upon A Wife That Died Mad With Jealousy
Robert Herrick
(1)
Poem topics: death, raise, noise, vault, quiet, trouble, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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