“Always be a poet, even in prose.” ~ Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867), French poet
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
My Dearest Dust
(Monument to Sir William Dyer in
Colmworth Church, Bedfordshire,
England)
This poem is the second of two verses engraved on a plaque on the alabaster and marble monument pictured above. The memorial was erected in 1641 by his widow, Lady Catherine Dyer.
MY DEAREST DUST
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 bed 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 slumbering 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.
~ Lady Catherine Dyer (1600?-1654)
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