Classic Poem

Adieu to him who loved me not;
Whose vow was insincere:
The past—oh, let it be forgot,
With all on earth that's dear!

The Silent Land—it is my home;
And there I soon shall rest,
Where sorrows never, never come
With sighs to heave the breast.

Adieu to earth! When I am laid
Within the narrow cell,
Let words and funeral pomp be stayed,
Nor toll the funeral-bell.

Enough if but a friend be nigh
To fling upon my bier
A rose that's tinted with the sky,
Or shed for me a tear.

Speak not of cherished love untold,
In death, a deathless flame;
Nor let the marble pale and cold
Record my humble name.

Yet think of me whene'er you dream
In holy twilight-hours,
Or mark the star whose pensive beam
Still cheers the meek-eyed flowers.