Richard Crawley

1840 - 1893 / Bryngwyn

To ——— - Poe

Oh come not to my grave when I am dead ;
The soul you loved was never buried there :
It did not linger till the prayers were said ;
It tarried not in the material air.
It went not upward to the painted sky.
Nor to the realms of earthquake and of flame :
Sparks come and go, meteors are born and die ;
How do they come ? they vanish as they came.
Yet would you hold the friend you deemed so good,
Live in his life, together and alone,
The sweet society in solitude,
When two harmonious spirits moved as one.
Oh let your mind my cemetery be !
So shall I live in heaven, living in thee.
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