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His Lachrymæ; Or, Mirth Turned To Mourning

by Robert Herrick, 1648

Call me no more,
    As heretofore,
The music of a feast;
    Since now, alas!
    The mirth that was
In me is dead or ceas’d.

    Before I went,
    To banishment,
Into the loathed west,
    I could rehearse
    A lyric verse,
And speak it with the best.

    But time, ay me!
    Has laid, I see,
My organ fast asleep,
    And turn’d my voice
    Into the noise
Of those that sit and weep.

Published in Hesperides

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