TOLL not the bell of death for me When I am dead; Strew not the flowery wreath o'er me, On my cold bed. Let friendship's sacred tear On my fresh grave appear, Gemming with pearls my bier— When I am dead. No dazzling, proud array Of pageantry display, My fate to spread; Let not the busy crowd be near, When I am dead, Fanning with unfelt sighs my bier, Sighs quickly sped. Deep let the impression rest On some fond female breast; Then were my memory blest, When I am dead. Let not the day be writ; Love will remember it Untold, unsaid. |