Do not stand

   By my grave, and weep.

  I am not there,

   I do not sleep—

I am the thousand winds that blow

I am the diamond glints in snow

I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

I am the gentle, autumn rain.

As you awake with morning’s hush,

I am the swift, up-flinging rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight,

I am the day transcending night.

  Do not stand

   By my grave, and cry—

  I am not there,

   I did not die.