Red Red Rose

O, my love is like a red, red rose,
That 's newly sprung in June.
O, my love is like the melody,
That 's sweetly played in tune.
As fair are you, my lovely lass,
So deep in love am I,
And I will love you still, my Dear,
Till all the seas go dry.
Till all the seas go dry, my Dear,
And the rocks melt with the sun
O I will love you still, my Dear,
While the sands of life shall run.
And fare you well, my only Love,
And fare you well a while
And I will come again, my Love,
Although it were ten thousand mile

Do not stand at my grave and weep (1932) by Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sun on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight.

I am the soft star-shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there; 
I did not die.