MAKE there my tomb, beneath the lime-tree's shade, <br />Where grass and flowers in wild luxuriance wave; <br />Let no memorial mark where I am laid, <br />Or point to common eyes the lover's grave! <br />But oft at twilight morn, or closing day, <br />The faithful friend with fault'ring step shall glide, <br />Tributes of fond regret by stealth to pay, <br />And sigh o'er the unhappy suicide. <br />And sometimes, when the sun with parting rays <br />Gilds the long grass that hides my silent bed, <br />The tear shall tremble in my Charlotte's eyes; <br />Dear, precious drops!--they shall embalm the dead! <br />Yes--Charlotte o'er the mournful spot shall weep, <br />Where her poor Werter--and his sorrows sleep.<br /><br />Charlotte Smith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xxiv-by-the-same/
