When I have passed away and am forgotten, <br />And no one living can recall my face, <br />When under alien sod my bones lie rotten <br />With not a tree or stone to mark the place; <br /> <br />Perchance a pensive youth, with passion burning, <br />For olden verse that smacks of love and wine, <br />The musty pages of old volumes turning, <br />May light upon a little song of mine, <br /> <br />And he may softly hum the tune and wonder <br />Who wrote the verses in the long ago; <br />Or he may sit him down awhile to ponder <br />Upon the simple words that touch him so.<br /><br />Claude McKay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-i-have-passed-away/