O, the gossamer and damask
Spreading underneath the trees;
O, the silken tassels where the tangle grows.
Let me slumber ’neath the shadow
Of the old New England hills,
Weave my raiment of the starlight when I die;
May the storms caress my temple,
May the winds caress my throne,
In the Pilgrims’ hallowed sands O let me lie.