After her death she will be buried in the grave, and she will go into the world of the dead. She will not see the shadows of the cypress planted by her dearest one. She will not feel the rain or tears. However, sadly one may sing, but she will not hear it. The sweet and sad song of the nightingale will not touch her. She will pass the rest of her time dreaming through the never-ending evening when the sun neither rises nor sets. Perhaps she will remember it. Perhaps she will forget it. - See more at: http://www.bachelorandmaster.com/britishandamericanpoetry/when-i-am-dead-my-dearest.html#sthash.QQHQJd3A.dpuf