Classic Poem

I.

Strew ye the grave with fragrance fair,
And place each odorous flowret there
The lost-one, living, lov'd to wreathe,
And then the annual vesper breathe.
Oh, while we live, the summer's sun
Shall see this grateful duty done
On this sad morn, the mid-day hours
His grave shall view thick strew'd with flowers.

II.

Oh, thus for me, when my path wild
Of life I've trod — may some lov'd child
Steal to my grave, with mournful air,
And strew the Summer's treasures there.
The unconscious marble tearful view,
And, as she breathes her last adieu,
Plant o'er the narrow, much-lov'd spot,
The flower I love — " Forget me not . "