  Girls, when I am gone away, On this bosom strew Only flowers meek and pale, And the yew. Let my face be bare; Bind a kerchief round the face, Smooth my hair. Let my bier be borne at dawn, Summer grows so sweet, Deep into the forest green Where boughs meet. Then pass away, and let me lie One long, warm, sweet day There alone, with face upturned, One sweet day. While the morning light grows broad, While noon sleepeth sound, While the evening falls and faints, While the world goes round. Edward Dowden |
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