Nor think o'er me, who shall not really die,
To rear the empty honor of the tomb.
His real self will remain among men, ever springing afresh in their words of praise:
Not lasting bronze nor pyramid upreared
By princes shall outlive my powerful rhyme.
The monument I build, to men endeared,
Not biting rain, nor raging wind, nor time,
Endlessly flowing through the countless years,
Shall e'er destroy. I shall not wholly die;
The grave shall have of me but what appears;