Dirge Of The Three Queens
URNS
and
odours
bring
away!
Vapours,
sighs,
darken
the
day!
Our
dole
more
deadly
looks
than
dying;
Balms
and
gums
and
heavy
cheers,
Sacred
vials
fill'd
with
tears,
And
clamours
through
the
wild
air
flying!
Come,
all
sad
and
solemn
shows,
That
are
quick-eyed
Pleasure's
foes!
We
convent
naught
else
but
woes.