THE EXEQUY

... Sleep on, my Love, in thy cold bed

Never to be disquieted!

My last good-night! Thou wilt not wake

Till I thy fate shall overtake:

Till age, or grief, or sickness must

Marry my body to that dust

It so much loves; and fill the room

My heart keeps empty in that tomb.

Stay for me there: I will not fail

To meet thee in that hollow vale.

And think not much of my delay:

I am already on the way,

And follow thee with all the speed

Desire can make, or sorrows breed.

Each minute is a short degree

And every hour a step towards thee....

Henry King