In after days when grasses high <br />O'er-top the stone where I shall lie, <br />Though ill or well the world adjust <br />My slender claim to honour'd dust, <br />I shall not question nor reply. <br /> <br />I shall not see the morning sky; <br />I shall not hear the night-wind sigh; <br />I shall be mute, as all men must <br />In after days! <br /> <br />But yet, now living, fain would I <br />That some one then should testify, <br />Saying - 'He held his pen in trust <br />To Art, not serving shame or lust.' <br />Will none? - Then let my memory die <br />In after days!<br /><br />Henry Austin Dobson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rondeau-4/
