Do not stand by my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep,
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am a diamond glint on the snow,
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awake in the morning hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush,
Of quiet birds in circling flight,
I am the soft starshine at night.
Do not stand by my grave and cry,
I am not there,
I did not die.

~Author Unknown~

She walks in beauty like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in the aspect of her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lighten o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.
Byron