I would not that my memory all should die,
And pass away with every common lot:
I would not that my humble dust should lie
In quite a strange and unfrequented spot,
By all unheeded and by all forgot,
With nothing save the heedless winds to sigh,
And nothing but the dewy morn to weep
About my grave, far hid from the world's eye:
I fain would have some friend to wander nigh
And find a path to where my ashes sleep--
Not the cold heart that merely passes by,
To read who lies beneath, but such as keep
Past memories warm with deeds of other years,
And pay to friendship some few friendly tears.


Anonymous said...

Hadn't seen this poem before from John Clare - and it made me think of both my father in law, who is buried in a churchyard overlooking the farm land that he managed and worked and Roger Deacon - I'm reading wildwood journey at the moment and it is so pleasant to take a journey with someone who is sadly no longer around. Thank you.

RevisionWorld said...

I have recently uploaded a set of questions and answers about this poem