My sister Death! I pray thee come to me

 Of thy sweet charity,

And be my nurse but for a little while;

 I will indeed lie still,

And not detain thee long, when once is spread,

 Beneath the yew, my bed:

I will not ask for lilies or for roses;

 But when the evening closes,

Just take from any brook a single knot

 Of pale Forget-me-not,

And lay them in my hand, until I wake,

 For his dear sake;

(For should he ever pass and by me stand,

 He yet might understand—)

Then heal the passion and the fever

 With one cool kiss, for ever.

– Digby Mackworth Dolben

A sorrowful white lily fougere shadowed by yew branches.