Far from the churchyard dig his grave, 
On some green mound beside the wave; 
To westward, sea and sky alone, 
And sunsets. Put a mossy stone, 
With mortal name and date, a harp 
And bunch of wild flowers, carven sharp; 
Then leave it free to winds that blow, 
And patient mosses creeping; slow, 
And wandering wings, and footsteps rare 
Of human creature pausing there.