Where?

For this man, wandering so wearingly,
Where would be the last resting shrine?
Is it in the South, under a palm-tree,
Or, under a lime-tree, on the Rhine?

Shall I , somewhere in a wasteland,
Be buried by a foreign hand?
Or, somewhere on an ocean's strand,
Rest deep, buried in its sand?

I shall be surrounded, regardless,
By the divine heaven, wherever I shall be,
And, at night, like lights of death,
The stars will hover over me.