...I know that I no more should see 
The season's glorious show, 
Nor would its brightness shine for me, 
Nor its wild music flow; 
But if, around my place of sleep, 
The friends I love should come to weep, 
They might not haste to go. 
Soft airs, and song, and light, and bloom 
Should keep them lingering by my tomb. 

These to their softened hearts should bear 
The thought of what has been, 
And speak of one who cannot share 
The gladness of the scene; 
Whose part, in all the pomp that fills 
The circuit of the summer hills, 
Is that his grave is green; 
And deeply would their hearts rejoice 
To hear again his living voice. 

-William Cullen Bryant