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FOR this I write, that when I lie in earth,
It may be known I loved the air and mirth,
And that my book to future races tell
How I loved life and nature passing well.


Attentive to the toil of towns and fields,
I marked what every changing season yields,
Since water, earth, and flames that gold refine
Are fairest imaged in this soul of mine.


I say what I do feel, what I behold,
With heart for which the truth was not too bold,
I who have had the hardihood to will
When I am dead and gone to be loved still.


And that young man reading what I wrote,
Feeling his troubled heart thrilled with delight,
Forgetting those who love him in the life
Should welcome me to be his best-loved wife.