EPITAPH
Reading edition
On a Young Lady who Desired that Tobacco Might be Planted Over her Grave.
Let no cold marble o'er my body rise— But only earth above, and sunny skies. Thus would I lowly lie in peaceful rest, Nursing the Herb Divine from out my breast. Green let it grow above this clay of mine, Deriving strength from strength that I resign. So in the days to come, when I'm beyond This fickle life, will come my lovers fond, And gazing on the plant, their grief restrain In whispering, "Lo! dear Anna blooms again!"