People in my part of the world don’t get to have epitaphs on their gravestones. Am I wrong to want one? A few lines inscribed on white marble wouldn’t make much of a difference to where my soul will travel to, but it is a comforting thought.
Wordsworth’s ‘Lucy’ isn’t exactly a new read for me, but last night after reading it again it struck me somewhere deep. And I thought, ‘How nice it would be for someone to read this when I die.’
Would you? Please.
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love;
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
– Fair as a star when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!