Make me no grave within that quiet place
Where friends shall sadly view the grassy mound,
Politely solemn for a little space,
As though the spirit slept beneath the ground.

For me no sorrow nor the  hopeless tear;
No chant no prayer no tender eulogy:
I may be laughing with the gods - while here
You weep alone. Then make no grave for me.

But lay me where the pines austere and tall;
Sing in the wind that sweep across the West:
Where night imperious sets her coronal
Of silver stars upon the mountain crest.

Where dawn rejoicing rises  from the deep,
And life rejoicing rises with the dawn:
Mark not the spot upon the sunny steep,
For with the morning light I shall be gone.   

Far trails await me; valleys vast and still,
Vistas undreamed of canyon-guarded steams,
Lowland and range air meadow flower-girt hill,
Forests enchanted filled with magic dreams.

And I shall find brave comrades on the way:
None shall be lonely in adventuring,
For each a chosen task to round the day ,
 New glories to amaze new songs to sing.

Loud swells the wind along the mountain-side:
High burns the sun unfettered swings the sea,
Clear gleam the trails whereon the vanished ride,
Life calls to life: then make no grave for me.