Stevenson

Doomed to know not Winter, only Spring, a being

Trod the flowery April blithely for a while,

Took his fill of music, joy of thought and seeing,

Came and stayed and went, nor ever ceased to smile.

Came and stayed and went, and now when all is finished,

You alone have crossed the melancholy stream,

Yours the pang, but his, O his, the undiminished

Undecaying gladness, undeparted dream.

Robert Louis Stevenson (1850 – 1894)

Under the wide and starry sky  

Dig the grave and let me lie:  

Glad did I live and gladly die,  

And I laid me down with a will.  

This be the verse you ‘grave for me:  

Here he lies where he long’d to be;  

Home is the sailor, home from the sea,  

And the hunter home from the hill. 

Robert Louis Stevenson (1850 – 1894)