WHEN from my lips the last faint sigh is blown By Death, dark waver of Lethean plumes, O! press not then with monumental stone This forehead smooth, nor weigh me down with glooms From green bowers, gray with dew, Of Rosemary and Rue. Choose for my bed some bath of sculptur'd marble Wreath'd with gay nymphs; and lay me -- not alone -- Where sunbeams fall, flowers wave, and light birds warble, To those who lov'd me murmuring in soft tone, "Here lies our friend, from pain secure and cold; And spreads his limbs in peace under the sun-warm'd mould!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EIGHT O'CLOCK by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN A LETTER FROM A GIRL TO HER OWN OLD AGE by ALICE MEYNELL THE LITTLE GHOST by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY: THE HYMN by JOHN MILTON STELLA AND FLAVIA by MARY BARBER THE GOLDEN TEXT by GEORGE FREDERICK CAMERON |