Perchance by those green hills some future day,
Hither a friend his listless step may turn,
And asking to my humble home the way,
The nameless stone that marks my bones may learn:
Reared ’neath yon oak where now full oft I stray,
When for cool shade and soft repose I yearn;
Where tranced in solemn thought I linger long,
Or pour in Zephyr’s ear my pensive song.
That very shade shall shelter me in death,
Which I so loved while life this frame did know;