Ah, my Perilla, dost thou grieve to see <br />Me day by day to steal away from thee? <br />Age calls me hence, and my grey hairs bid come, <br />And haste away to mine eternal home. <br />'Twill not be long, Perilla, after this, <br />That I must give thee the supremest kiss. <br />Dead when I am, first cast in salt, and bring <br />Part of the cream from that religious spring, <br />With which, Perilla, wash my hands and feet. <br />That done, then wind me in that very sheet <br />Which wrapped thy smooth limbs when thou didst implore <br />The gods' protection but the night before. <br />Follow me weeping to my turf, and there <br />Let fall a primrose, and with it a tear; <br />Then, lastly, let some weekly-strewings be <br />Devoted to the memory of me: <br />Then shall my ghost not walk about, but keep <br />Still in the cool and silent shades of sleep.<br /><br />Robert Herrick<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-perilla/
