SONNET.
I care not that the world, when I am dead,Remember me; I care not that they comeTo see the place where I shall lay my head,Or praise me with low voices at my tomb;I would not even a recording stoneShould tell them what I was—when I am gone.There are a few who love me—whom I love—Gentle and gifted spirits, who would weep,But not that I had found a rest above,And in their hearts my trifling virtues keep;And one, whom I have folded like a doveIn my affections, would lie down and sleepSoftly beside me—and I should not care,That any one should know that I was there.
I care not that the world, when I am dead,Remember me; I care not that they comeTo see the place where I shall lay my head,Or praise me with low voices at my tomb;I would not even a recording stoneShould tell them what I was—when I am gone.There are a few who love me—whom I love—Gentle and gifted spirits, who would weep,But not that I had found a rest above,And in their hearts my trifling virtues keep;And one, whom I have folded like a doveIn my affections, would lie down and sleepSoftly beside me—and I should not care,That any one should know that I was there.
I care not that the world, when I am dead,Remember me; I care not that they comeTo see the place where I shall lay my head,Or praise me with low voices at my tomb;I would not even a recording stoneShould tell them what I was—when I am gone.There are a few who love me—whom I love—Gentle and gifted spirits, who would weep,But not that I had found a rest above,And in their hearts my trifling virtues keep;And one, whom I have folded like a doveIn my affections, would lie down and sleepSoftly beside me—and I should not care,That any one should know that I was there.
I care not that the world, when I am dead,
Remember me; I care not that they come
To see the place where I shall lay my head,
Or praise me with low voices at my tomb;
I would not even a recording stone
Should tell them what I was—when I am gone.
There are a few who love me—whom I love—
Gentle and gifted spirits, who would weep,
But not that I had found a rest above,
And in their hearts my trifling virtues keep;
And one, whom I have folded like a dove
In my affections, would lie down and sleep
Softly beside me—and I should not care,
That any one should know that I was there.