When I Die

When I die my song shall be, Crooning of the summer breeze; When I die my shroud shall be, Leaves plucked from the maple trees ; On a couch as green as moss And a bed as soft as down, I shall sleep and dream my dream Of a poet's laurel crown.

When I die my star shall drop Singing like a nightingale; When I die my soul shall rise. Where the lyre strings never fail ; In the rose my blood shall lie. In the violet the smile. And the moonbeams thousand strong, Past my grave each night shall file.