Moss

"Put a mossy stone, With mortal name and date, a harp And bunch of wild flowers, carven sharp; Then leave it free to winds that blow, And patient mosses creeping; slow, And wandering wings, and footsteps rare Of human creature pausing there."

"A rolling stone gathers no moss.."

"My will is easy to decide, For there is nothing to divide. My kin don’t need to fuss and moan — "Moss does not cling to a rolling stone.""

"But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways."