I chose the place where I would rest <br />When death should come to claim me, <br />With the red-rose roots to wrap my breast <br />And a quiet stone to name me. <br /> <br />But I am laid on a northern steep <br />With the roaring tides below me, <br />And only the frosts to bind my sleep, <br />And only the winds to know me.<br /><br />Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/exile-3/
