Explore "To a Clergyman on the Death of his Lady" by Phillis Wheatley on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Where contemplation finds her sacred spring, / Where heav'nly music makes the arches ring, / Where virtue reigns unsully'd and divine, / Where wisdom thron'd, and all the graces shine, / There sits thy spouse amidst the radiant throng, / While praise eternal warbles from her tongue; / There choirs angelic shout her welcome round, / With perfect bliss, and peerless glory crown'd.
While thy dear mate, to flesh no more confin'd, / Exults a blest, an heav'n-ascended mind, / Say in thy breast shall floods of sorrow rise?