Oh, let it be a night of lyric rain
And singing breezes, when my bell is tolled. 
I have so loved the rain that I would hold 
Last in my ears its friendly, dim refrain. 
I shall lie cool and quiet, who have lain 
Fevered, and watched the book of day unfold. 
Death will not see my flinch; the heart is bold
That pain has made incapable of pain. 

Kinder the busy worms than ever love; 
It will be peace to lie there, empty-eyed, 
My bed made secret by the leveling showers, 
My breast replenishing the weeds above. 
And you will say of me, “Then has she died?
Perhaps I should have sent a spray of flowers.” 

From Enough Rope (Boni & Liveright, 1926) by Dorothy Parker. This poem is in the public domain.