Lady, when your lovely head
Droops to sink among the Dead,
And the quiet places keep
You that so divinely sleep;
Then the dead shall blessèd be
With a new solemnity,
For such Beauty, so descending,
Pledges them that Death is ending.
Sleep your fill—but when you wake
Dawn shall over Lethe break.
XXIII
Fatigued
I’m tired of Love: I’m still more tired of Rhyme.
But Money gives me pleasure all the time.
XXIV
On Benicia, who Wished Him Well
Benicia wished me well; I wished her well.
And what I wished her more I may not tell.
XXV
The False Heart
I said to Heart, “How goes it?” Heart replied:
“Right as a Ribstone Pippin!” But it lied.