Come not to mourn for me with solemn tread

Clad in dull weeds of sad and sable hue,

Nor weep because of my tale of life’s told through,

Casting light dust on my troubled head.

Nor linger near me while the sexton fills

My grave with earth – but so gay garlanded.

And in your halls a shining banquet spread

And gild your chambers o’er with daffodils.

 

Fill your tall goblets with white wine and red,

And sing brave songs of gallant love and true,

Wearing soft robes of emerald and blue,

And dance, as I your dances oft have led,

And laugh, as I have often laughed with you –

And be most merry – after I am dead.

 

Winifred Holtby (1898 – 1935)