While that my soul repairs to her devotion,
Here I entomb my flesh, that it betimes
May take acquaintance of this heap of dust,
To which the blast of Death's incessant motion,
Fed with the exhalation of our crimes,
Drives all at last.

-George Herbert, Church Monuments

Wonder why those lines are so darn poetic? This fine essay explains.

(Image: nehemiahblake.files.wordpress.com.)