Classic Poem

Wreathe no more lilies in my hair,
For I am dying, Sister sweet:
Or if you will for the last time
Indeed, why make me fair
Once for my windingsheet.

Pluck no more roses for my breast,
For I like them fade in my prime:
Or if you will, why pluck them still
That they may share my rest
Once more, for the last time.

Weep not for me when I am gone,
Dear tender one, but hope and smile:
Or if you cannot choose but weep
A little while, weep on
Only a little while.