When I am dead <br />I would that ye make my bed <br />On that low-lying, windy waste by the sea, <br />Where the silvery grasses rustle and lisp; <br />There, where the crisp <br />Foam-flakes shall fly over me, <br />And murmurs creep <br />From the ancient heart of the deep, <br />Lulling me ever, I shall most sweetly sleep. <br />While the eerie sea-folk croon <br />On the long dim shore by the light of a waning moon. <br /> <br />I shall not hear <br />Clamor of young life anear, <br />Voices of gladness to stir an unrest; <br />Only the wandering mists of the sea <br />Shall companion me; <br />Only the wind in its quest <br />Shall come where I lie, <br />Or the rain from the brooding sky <br />With furtive footstep shall pass me by, <br />And never a dream of the earth <br />Shall break on my slumber with lure of an out-lived mirth.<br /><br />Lucy Maud Montgomery<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-request/
