“Sleep on (my Love!) in thy cold bedNever to be disquieted.My last Good-night! Thou wilt not wakeTill I thy fate shall overtake:Till age, or grief, or sickness mustMarry my body to that dustIt so much loves; and fill the roomMy heart keeps empty in thy tomb.Stay for me there: I will not failTo 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 speedDesire can make, or sorrows breed.”

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Originally said in English.

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About Henry King (poet)

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