I gazed upon the glorious sky
And the green mountains round,
And thought that when I came to lie
At rest within the ground,
'Twere pleasant, that in flowery June
When brooks send up a cheerful tune,
And groves a joyous sound,
The sexton's hand, my grave to make,
The rich, green mountain-turf should break.
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So sweet, so sweet the roses in their blowing,
So sweet the daffodils, so fair to see;
read more
So sweet, so sweet the roses in their blowing,
So sweet the daffodils, so fair to see;
So blithe and gay the humming-bird a going
From flower to flower, a-hunting with the bee.
Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down;
Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,
read more
Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down;
Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,
With here and there a violet bestrown,
Fast by a brook or fountain's murmuring wave;
And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave.
The grave is Heaven's golden gate,
And rich and poor around it wait;
O Shepherdess of England's read more
The grave is Heaven's golden gate,
And rich and poor around it wait;
O Shepherdess of England's fold,
Behold this gate of pearl and gold!
- William Blake,
No price is set on the lavish summer;
June may be had by the poorest comer.
No price is set on the lavish summer;
June may be had by the poorest comer.
By Nebo's lonely mountain,
On this side Jordan's wave,
In a vale in the land of Moab,
read more
By Nebo's lonely mountain,
On this side Jordan's wave,
In a vale in the land of Moab,
There lies a lonely grave;
But no man built that sepulcher,
And no man saw it e'er,
For the angels of God upturned the sod
And laid the dead man there.
There is but one easy place in this world, and that is the grave.
There is but one easy place in this world, and that is the grave.
(Julian would learn something) even if he had one foot in the
grave.
[Lat., Etsi alterum pedem in read more
(Julian would learn something) even if he had one foot in the
grave.
[Lat., Etsi alterum pedem in sepulchro haberem.]
Build me a shrine, and I could kneel
To rural Gods, or prostrate fall;
Did I not read more
Build me a shrine, and I could kneel
To rural Gods, or prostrate fall;
Did I not see, did I not feel.
That One Great Spirit governs all.
O Heaven, permit that I may lie
Where o'er my corse green branches wave;
And those who from life's tumults fly
With kindred feelings press my grave.
The grave's the market place.
The grave's the market place.
