Poem, for no reason in particular
Saturday, 23 May 2009 06:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
I've been thinking of this one recently. Have a poem.
My Dearest Dust
Lady Catherine Dyer
My dearest dust, could not thy hasty day
Afford thy drowzy patience leave to stay
One hower longer: so that we might either
Sate up, or gone to bedd together?
But since thy finisht labor hath possest
Thy weary limbs with early rest,
Enjoy it sweetly: and thy widdowe bride
Shall soone repose her by thy slumbring side.
Whose business, now, is only to prepare
My nightly dress, and call to prayre:
Mine eyes wax heavy and ye day growes old.
The dew falls thick, my beloved growes cold.
Draw, draw ye closed curtaynes: and make room:
My dear, my dearest dust; I come, I come.
Epitaph on monument erected in 1641 by Lady Catherine Dyer to her husband Sir William Dyer in Colmworth Church, Bedfordshire.
My Dearest Dust
Lady Catherine Dyer
My dearest dust, could not thy hasty day
Afford thy drowzy patience leave to stay
One hower longer: so that we might either
Sate up, or gone to bedd together?
But since thy finisht labor hath possest
Thy weary limbs with early rest,
Enjoy it sweetly: and thy widdowe bride
Shall soone repose her by thy slumbring side.
Whose business, now, is only to prepare
My nightly dress, and call to prayre:
Mine eyes wax heavy and ye day growes old.
The dew falls thick, my beloved growes cold.
Draw, draw ye closed curtaynes: and make room:
My dear, my dearest dust; I come, I come.
Epitaph on monument erected in 1641 by Lady Catherine Dyer to her husband Sir William Dyer in Colmworth Church, Bedfordshire.