When, to their airy hall, my father's voice <br />Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice; <br />When, poised upon the gale, my form shall ride, <br />Or, dark in mist, descend the mountains side; <br />Oh! may my shade behold no sculptured urns, <br />To mark the spot where earth to earth returns! <br />No lengthen'd scroll, no praise-encumber'd stone; <br />My epitaph shall be my name alone: <br />If that with honour fail to crown my clay, <br />Oh! may no other fame my deeds repay! <br />That, only that, shall single out the spot; <br />By that remember'd, or with that forgot.<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-fragment-when-to-their-airy-hall/
