IN after days when grasses high O'er-top the stone where I shall lie,   Though ill or well the world adjust   My slender claim to honour'd dust, I shall not question nor reply.

I shall not see the morning sky; I shall not hear the night-wind sigh;   I shall be mute, as all men must       In after days!

But yet, now living, fain would I That some one then should testify,   Saying—'He held his pen in trust   To Art, not serving shame or lust.' Will none?—Then let my memory die       In after days!