Classic Poem

Oh ! lady, do not weep for me
Because my closing hour is near,
I only mourn that I should be
So long a way-worn traveller here.

These old grey hairs are slender ties
To bind me to life's desert shore;
A heart that only beats with sighs
Cares not how soon it beats no more.

The worms will feed upon my breast,
And revel in my senseless clay,
But gnawing thoughts will be at rest,
More ravenous and fierce than they.

The grass-green sod will heavily
Press on the head it covers o'er,
But light will every burden be
When grief shall weigh it down no more.

And dark will be my couch of rest,
And cold, but free from pain and fears,
Unshaken by my throbbing breast,
Unwetted by my bursting tears.

Then, lady! do not weep for me
Because my closing hour is near;
I only mourn that I should be
So long a way-worn traveller here.