I love Benjamin Franklin's.
The body of
B. Franklin, Printer
(Like the Cover of an Old Book
Its Contents torn Out
And Stript of its Lettering and Gilding)
Lies Here, Food for Worms.
But the Work shall not be Lost;
For it will (as he Believ'd) Appear once More
In a New and More Elegant Edition
Revised and Corrected
By the Author.
I'm not a fan or poetry. To me it's music without sound, but I really think this bit here is a thing of beauty. I can only hope the words on my tombstone sum me up in such a refined and sublime way.