Requiem per Salmo Trutta Bear my body when I die, Far from men, and let it lie By a sea trout river. Where larches troop their ranks And, above the granite banks Silver birches shiver. Stay not, stranger, passing by, For decorous lament or sigh Where I rest beside you. Go, my brother cast your line, With a craft that once was mine, And good luck betide you. There, who knows, I still may ply, O'er the stream a phantom fly For a midnight capture, And, if heavan attends my wish, Bring to the bank a ghostly fish In a ghostly rapture. T. C. Kingsmill Moore