William Drummond of Hawthornden (1585–1649)

THIS beauty, which pale death in dust did turn,

And clos’d so soon within a coffin sad,

Did pass like lightning, like to thunder burn;

So little life so much of worth it had!

Heavens but to show their might here made it shine,

And when admir’d, then in the world’s disdain,

(O tears! O grief!) did call it back again,

Lest earth should vaunt she kept what was divine.

What can we hope for more, what more enjoy,

Sith fairest things thus soonest have their end;

And, as on bodies shadows do attend,

Sith all our bliss is follow’d with annoy?

She is not dead, she lives where she did love,

Her memory on earth, her soul above.