Lover. YOUR beauty, ripe and calm and fresh <br /> As eastern summers are, <br />Must now, forsaking time and flesh, <br /> Add light to some small star. <br /> <br />Philosopher. Whilst she yet lives, were stars decay'd, <br /> Their light by hers relief might find; <br />But Death will lead her to a shade <br /> Where Love is cold and Beauty blind. <br /> <br />Lover. Lovers, whose priests all poets are, <br /> Think every mistress, when she dies, <br />Is changed at least into a star: <br /> And who dares doubt the poets wise? <br /> <br />Philosopher. But ask not bodies doom'd to die <br /> To what abode they go; <br />Since Knowledge is but Sorrow's spy, <br /> It is not safe to know.<br /><br />Sir William Davenant<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-a-mistress-dying/
