[Come away, come away, death]1,
  And in sad cypress let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath;
  I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
  [O prepare it!]2
My part of death, no one so true
  Did share it.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
  On my black coffin let there be [strown]3;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
  My poor corpse, where my bones shall be [thrown]4:
[A thousand, thousand sighs to save,]5
  Lay me, O where
[Sad true]6 lover never find my grave,
  [To weep there!]7

V. Fine sets stanza 1

About the headline (FAQ)

View original text (without footnotes)
¹ Fortner: "Death, come away, come away"
² Dring: "Come prepare it"
³ Leguerney: "thrown"; Wilkinson: "strewn"
⁴ Leguerney: "strown"
⁵ Korngold: "A thousand sighs to save,"; omitted by Argento.
⁶ Korngold: "True"
⁷ Amram: "did share it." [mistake?]

Text Authorship:

• by William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616), no title, appears in Twelfth Night: or, What You Will, Act II, scene 4

See other settings of this text.

Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

• DUT Dutch (Nederlands) (Jan Jonk) , "Kom toch gauw, kom toch gauw, dood", copyright © 2012, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• FIN Finnish (Suomi) (Paavo Cajander)
• GER German (Deutsch) [singable] (David Paley) , "Komm herbei, komm herbei, Tod", copyright © 2012, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• ITA Italian (Italiano) (Paolo Montanari) , "Vieni, o morte", copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• NOR Norwegian (Bokmål) (Marianne Beate Kielland) , "Kom hit, kom nå hit, død", copyright © 2009, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• POL Polish (Polski) (Józef Komierowski) , no title

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 16
Word count: 107

Süßer Tod, süßer Tod, komm,
  Komm, senk mich nieder ins kühle Grab!
Brich, o Herz brich, o Herz fromm,
  Stirb fromm der süßen Tyrannin ab!
    Mein Gruftgewand schneeweiß und rein,
      lieg es fertig!
    Kein Bräut'gam hüllte je sich drein
      So fröhlich.

Blumen nicht, keine Blum' süß
  Sollt ihr auf'n schwarzen Sarg mir streun!
Thränen nicht, keine Thrän' fließ,
  Wo sanft wird ruhn mein Todtenbein!
    Ah tausend, tausend Seufzer schwer --
      Nein -- ihr Meinen,
    Legt hin mich, wo kein Liebender
      Kommt weinen.