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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=507459" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Widows' Tears; Or, Dirge Of Dorcas</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=507459" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Come pity us, all ye who see<br>Our harps hung on the willow-tree;<br>Come pity us, ye passers-by,<br>Who see or hear poor widows' cry;<br>Come pity us, and bring your ears<br>And eyes to pity widows' tears.<br>CHOR. And when you are come hither,<br>Then we will keep<br>A fast, and weep<br>Our eyes out all together,</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=507459" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">For Tabitha; who dead lies here,<br>Clean wash'd, and laid out for the bier.<br>O modest matrons, weep and wail!<br>For now the corn and wine must fail;<br>The basket and the bin of bread,<br>Wherewith so many souls were fed,<br>CHOR. Stand empty here for ever;<br>And ah! the poor,<br>At thy worn door,<br>Shall be relieved never.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=507459" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Woe worth the time, woe worth the day,<br>That reft us of thee, Tabitha!<br>For we have lost, with thee, the meal,<br>The bits, the morsels, and the deal<br>Of gentle paste and yielding dough,<br>That thou on widows did bestow.<br>CHOR. All's gone, and death hath taken<br>Away from us<br>Our maundy; thus<br>Thy widows stand forsaken.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=507459" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Ah, Dorcas, Dorcas! now adieu<br>We bid the cruise and pannier too;<br>Ay, and the flesh, for and the fish,<br>Doled to us in that lordly dish.<br>We take our leaves now of the loom<br>From whence the housewives' cloth did come;<br>CHOR. The web affords now nothing;<br>Thou being dead,<br>The worsted thread<br>Is cut, that made us clothing.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=507459" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Farewell the flax and reaming wool,<br>With which thy house was plentiful;<br>Farewell the coats, the garments, and<br>The sheets, the rugs, made by thy hand;<br>Farewell thy fire and thy light,<br>That ne'er went out by day or night:--<br>CHOR. No, or thy zeal so speedy,<br>That found a way,<br>By peep of day,<br>To feed and clothe the needy.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=507459" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">But ah, alas! the almond-bough<br>And olive-branch is wither'd now;<br>The wine-press now is ta'en from us,<br>The saffron and the calamus;<br>The spice and spikenard hence is gone,<br>The storax and the cinnamon;<br>CHOR. The carol of our gladness<br>Has taken wing;<br>And our late spring<br>Of mirth is turn'd to sadness.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=507459" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">How wise wast thou in all thy ways!<br>How worthy of respect and praise!<br>How matron-like didst thou go drest!<br>How soberly above the rest<br>Of those that prank it with their plumes,<br>And jet it with their choice perfumes!<br>CHOR. Thy vestures were not flowing;<br>Nor did the street<br>Accuse thy feet<br>Of mincing in their going.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=507459" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">And though thou here liest dead, we see<br>A deal of beauty yet in thee.<br>How sweetly shews thy smiling face,<br>Thy lips with all diffused grace!<br>Thy hands, though cold, yet spotless, white,<br>And comely as the chrysolite.<br>CHOR. Thy belly like a hill is,<br>Or as a neat<br>Clean heap of wheat,<br>All set about with lilies.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=507459" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Sleep with thy beauties here, while we<br>Will shew these garments made by thee;<br>These were the coats; in these are read<br>The monuments of Dorcas dead:<br>These were thy acts, and thou shalt have<br>These hung as honours o'er thy grave:--<br>CHOR. And after us, distressed,<br>Should fame be dumb,<br>Thy very tomb<br>Would cry out, Thou art blessed.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Robert+Herrick">Robert Herrick</a></strong></div>