No one regards what is before his feet; we all gaze at the stars.

Let no one weep for me, or celebrate my funeral with mourning; for I still live, as I pass to and fro through the mouths of men.

I never indulge in rhyme or stanza Unless I'm in bed with the influenza.

No one regards what is before his feet; we all gaze at the stars.

Here is he laid to whom for daring deed, nor friend nor foe could render worthy meed.

O friend unseen, unborn, unknown, Student of our sweet English tongue, I never indulge in poetics - Unless I am down with rheumatics.

Let no one pay me honor with tears, nor celebrate my funeral rites with weeping.