THIS little vault, this narrow room, 
Of Love and Beauty is the tomb; 
The dawning beam, that 'gan to clear 
Our clouded sky, lies darken'd here, 
For ever set to us: by Death 
Sent to enflame the World Beneath. 
'Twas but a bud, yet did contain 
More sweetness than shall spring again; 
A budding Star, that might have grown 
Into a Sun when it had blown. 
This hopeful Beauty did create 
New life in Love's declining state; 
But now his empire ends, and we 
From fire and wounding darts are free; 
   His brand, his bow, let no man fear: 
   The flames, the arrows, all lie here.