Come Away, Come Away, Death

by William Shakespeare

  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 corpse, where my bones shall thrown:
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
    Lay me, O where
Sad true lover never find my grave,
    To weep there.