Memory

I would not that my being all should die,
And pass away with every common lot;
I would not that my humble dust should lie
In quite a strange and unfrequented spot,
By all unheeded and by all forgot;
With nothing save the heedless winds to sigh,
And nothing but the dewy morn to weep
About my grave, far hid from the world's eye:
I fain would have some friend to wander nigh,
And find a path to where my ashes sleep —
Not the cold heart that merely passes by,
To read who lies beneath; but such as keep
Past memories warm with deeds of other years,
And pay to Friendship some few friendly tears.