Below this marble monument is laid <br />All that heaven wants of this celestial maid. <br />Preserve, O sacred tomb, thy trust consigned; <br />The mould was made on purpose for the mind: <br />And she would lose, if, at the latter day, <br />One atom could be mixed with other clay; <br />Such were the features of her heavenly face, <br />Her limbs were formed with such harmonious grace: <br />So faultless was the frame, as if the whole <br />Had been an emanation of the soul; <br />Which her own inward symmetry revealed, <br />And like a picture shone, in glass annealed; <br />Or like the sun eclipsed, with shaded light; <br />Too piercing, else, to be sustained by sight. <br />Each thought was visible that rolled within; <br />As through a crystal case the figured hours are seen. <br />And heaven did this transparent veil provide, <br />Because she had no guilty thoughts to hide. <br />All white, a virgin-saint, she sought the skies, <br />For marriage, though it sullies not, it dyes. <br />High though her wit, yet humble was her mind; <br />As if she could not, or she would not find <br />How much her worth transcended all her kind. <br />Yet she had learned so much of heaven below, <br />That when arrived, she scarce had more to know; <br />But only to refresh the former hint, <br />And read her Maker in a fairer print. <br />So pious, that she had no time to spare <br />For human thoughts, but seemed confined to prayer; <br />Yet in such charities she passed the day, <br />'Twas wondrous how she found an hour to pray. <br />A soul so calm, it knew not ebbs or flows, <br />Which passion could but curl, not discompose. <br />A female softness, with a manly mind; <br />A daughter duteous, and a sister kind; <br />In sickness patient, and in death resigned.<br /><br />John Dryden<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/epitaph-on-the-monument-of-a-fair-maiden-lady-who-died-at-bath-and-is-there-interred/
