My dearest dust could not thy hasty day
Afford thy drowzy patience leave to stay
One hower longer; so that we might either
Sate up, or gone to bedd together?
But since thy finisht labor hath possest
Thy weary limbs with early rest,
Enjoy it sweetly; and thy widdowe bride
Shall soone repose her by thy slumbring side;
Whose business, now is only to prepare
My nightly dress, and call to prayre:
Mine eyes wax heavy and the day growes old
The dew falls thick, my bloud growes cold;
Draw, draw the closed curtaynes: and make roome;
My deare, my dearest dust; I come, I come.
Katharine, Lady Dyer, 1585-1654 – “My dearest dust could not thy hasty day” from The Penguin Book of English Verse
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