In After Days
Austin Dobson
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 honoured 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 were 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!
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