To S. M

 If he should lie a-dying

I AM not willing you should go 
Into the earth, where Helen went; 
She is awake by now, I know. 
Where Cleopatra's anklets rust 
You will not lie with my consent; 
And Sappho is a roving dust; 
Cressid could love again; Dido, 
Rotted in state, is restless still; 
You leave me much against my will.

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