EPITAPH


_ON A YOUNG LADY WHO DESIRED THAT TOBACCO MIGHT BE PLANTED OVER HER

GRAVE._





Let no cold marble o'er my body rise--

But only earth above, and sunny skies.

Thus would I lowly lie in peaceful rest,

Nursing the Herb Divine from out my breast.

Green let it grow above this clay of mine,

Deriving strength from strength that I resign.

So in the days to come, when I'm beyond

This fickle life, will come my lovers fond,

And gazing on the plant, their grief restrain

In whispering, "Lo! dear Anna blooms again!"



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