On a Young Lady who Desired that Tobacco Might be Planted Over her Grave.

Let no cold marble o'er my body rise—

But only earth above, and sunny skies.

Thus would I lowly lie in peaceful rest,

Nursing the Herb Divine from out my breast.

Green let it grow above this clay of mine,

Deriving strength from strength that I resign.

So in the days to come, when I'm beyond

This fickle life, will come my lovers fond,

And gazing on the plant, their grief restrain