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When I am Dead
By James Edward Wilson

I do not want a gaping crowd
To come with lamentations loud,
         When life has fled;
Nor would I have my words or ways
Rehearsed, perhaps �mid tardy praise,
         When I am dead.

I do not want strange, curious eyes
To see my face when still it lies,
         In silence dread;
Nor do I want them, if they would,
To tell my deeds were ill or good,
         When I am dead.

I only want a chosen few
Who stood through good and evil, too,
         True friendship�s test;
Just they who sought to find the good,
And then, as only true friends could,
         Forgave the rest.

They who, with sympathetic heart,
Sought hope and comfort to impart,
         Where there was life;
Not keeping all the tears and sighs
Till weary, worn-out nature dies,
         And ends the strife.

I�d have them come, �The friendly few,�
And drop, perhaps, a tear or two,
         By kindness led;
Not many tears I�d have them shed,
Nor do I want much sung or said,
         When I am dead.

To have them each come in alone,
And call me in the old, sweet tone,
         Would suit me best;
And then, without a sob or moan,
Go softly out and leave alone
         The dead to rest.

Just as I�ve lived, almost unknown,
A life unmarked, obscure and lone,
         So let me die;
Just one who lived, and loved, and died�
A mound of earth and naught beside,
         There let me lie.

Solitude
By Ella Wheeler Cox

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep and you weep alone,
For the sad old earth must borrow it's mirth,
But has trouble enough of it's own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air,
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all,-
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.

Feast and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.