Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep

    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.

By  Clare Harner
Originally published in The Gypsy, in December 1934