Lay, or Rather Roundel

Death, of thy rigour I complain,
That hast my lady torn from me
And wilt not yet contented be,
Save from me too all strength be ta'en,
For languishment of heart and brain.
What harm did she in life to thee,
Death ?
One heart we had betwixt us twain ;
Which being dead, I too must dree
Death, or, like carven saints we see
In choir, sans life to live be fain,
Death !