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Her sufferings ended with the day.
Her sufferings ended with the day;
Yet lived she at its close,
In statue-like repose.
But when the sun in all his state
Illumed the eastern skies,
And walked in Paradise.
James Aldrich. Mora.
Iamque die non ilia quidem vergente laborat,
sed licet emeritam terra parumper habet; noctis enim tristes ultro remorata per horas
linquere marmoreum noluit aura sinum. at dubias splendens quom sol discusserat umbras,
aurea quom toto lux oriente rubet, digna triumphantem quae sic intraret Olympum
asseritur superis mane Serena choris.
O My love! my wife! Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there. Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? O, what more favour can I do to thee, Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain To sunder his that was thine enemy?
Forgive me, cousin! Ah, dear Juliet,
Why art thou yet so fair? shall I believe
That unsubstantial death is amorous,
And that the lean abhorred monster keeps
Thee here in dark to be his paramour?
For fear of that, I still will stay with thee:
And never from this palace of dim night
Depart again: here, here will I remain
With worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, here
Will I set up my everlasting rest,
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars
From this world-wearied flesh.