COME away, come away, death,
And in sad cypres let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
O prepare it!
My part of death, no one so true
Did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
On my black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corse, where my bones shall be thrown:
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O, where
Sad true lover never find my grave
To weep there!
Contributor
This contributor's work explored unique perspectives within their field, contributing significantly to the collection.
You have to imagine it:Who said you were too dark/tooLarge? Too queer/too loud?Who said you were too...
COME away, come away, death,And in sad cypres let me be laid;Fly away, fly away, breath;I am slain b...
I met a traveller from an antique land, Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the...
FROM off a hill whose concave womb rewordedA plaintful story from a sistering vale,My spirits to att...
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