Oh roses for the flush of youth

The birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me.

Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land.

My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a water'd shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit.

Does the road wind up-hill all the way? Yes, to the very end. Will the day's journey take the whole long day? From morn to night, my friend.

When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree: Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet;

Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad.