No longer mourn for me when I am dead, Then you shall hear the surley sullen bell, Give warning to the world that I am fled, From this vile world, with vilesy worms to dwell, Nay, if you read this line, remember not, The band that writ it; for I love you so, That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, If thinking on me then should make you woe, O if, I say, you look upon this verse, When I perhaps compounded am with clay, Do not so much as my poor name rehearse, But let your love even with my decay; Lest the wise world should look into your moan, And mock you with me after I am gone, -William Shakespeare (The Sonnets)
Posted on: Tue, 29 Oct 2013 19:55:23 +0000
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