The speaker imagines his own death and almost commands a loved one to stop grieving the moment he’s gone. He doesn't want the funeral bell to echo anyone’s sadness; he calls the world he’s leaving "vile" and the grave a place of "vilest worms." Right away, there's bitterness mixed with tenderness. He admits he loves the reader so deeply that he'd rather be completely forgotten than cause a moment of sorrow. If his words are ever looked at again when he’s just "compounded … with clay," he begs not even to be named aloud. It’s a strange, selfless kind of affection that asks for love to rot away along with his body. The final couplet reveals a sharper fear: that a "wise world" will notice the loved one’s grief and mock them both. The mood is intimate and melancholy—less a peaceful farewell than a protective, almost anxious erasing of himself to keep their pain private.
Sonnet 71: No longer mourn for me when I am dead — Summary
No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell: Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it, for I love you so, That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, If thinking on me then should make you woe. O! if,--I say you look upon this verse, When I perhaps compounded am with clay, Do not so much as my poor name rehearse; But let your love even with my life decay; Lest the wise world should look into your moan, And mock you with me after I am gone.