A little mound of earth
Is all the land I own:
Death gave it me,— five feet by three,
And mark'd it with a stone.
My home, my garden-grave,
Where most I long to go!
The ground is mine by right divine,
And Heaven will have it so.
For here my darling sleeps,
Unseen,— arrayed in white,—
And o'er the grass the breezes pass,
And stars look down at night.
Here Beauty, Love, and Joy,
With her in silence dwell,
As Eastern slaves are thrown in graves
Of kings remember'd well.
But here let no man come,
My mourning rights to sever.
Who lieth here is cold and dumb.
Her dust is mine for ever!