Weep not, beloved Friends! nor let the air
For me with sighs be troubled. Not from life
Have I been taken; this is genuine life
And this alone, the life which now I live
In peace eternal; where desire and joy
Together move in fellowship without end.
Francesco Ceni willed that, after death,
His tombstone thus should speak for him. And surely
Small cause there is for that fond wish of ours
Long to continue in this world; a world
That keeps not faith, nor yet can point a hope
To good, whereof itself is destitute.
Read all of William Wordsworth's poems · About William Wordsworth
More by William Wordsworth
Write poetry? Submit your poem to Poetry Catalog