Poem by Henry Austin Dobson

* * *

Rondeau

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! 

1. When Burbadge Played
2. For a Copy of Theocritus
3. Knickerbocker
4. The Last Proof
5. On the Future of Poetry

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