Classic Poem

Bury me deep when I am dead,
Far from the woods where sweet birds sing;
Lap me in sullen stone and lead,
Lest my poor dust should feel the Spring.

Never a flower be near me set,
Nor starry cup nor slender stem,
Anemone nor violet,
Lest my poor dust remember them.

And you — wherever you may fare —
Dearer than birds, or flowers, or dew —
Never, ah me, pass never there,
Lest my poor dust should dream of you.