Annotations THERE is a fair, white relic in my room : God, how I love it ! Twine, twine Green keys of sycamine Round and above it. Then lay it softly in my heart's new tomb. Ah, mourning friends, these sullen sighs and deep No longer breathe me ! Sing, sing Praise of the royal thing Death doth bequeath me, And carve me in my memory to keep ! Book traversal links for There is a fair, white relic in my room ‹ When thou to death, fond one, wouldst fain be starting Up Vain Death, thou hast no staying ›
