Weird Tales/Volume 23/Issue 5/Mementos
By Marie W. Linné
I will not haunt you after I am dead;
My wistful, sad, unsatiated wraith
Shall not be lingering near these streets we tread.
These wails that look so much on love and death;
My hungry laughing eyes, the words we said
Shall no way haunt you after I am dead....
Oh, I'll have other things than these to do;
I'll find a deep depression in a hill,
And to the wind's white songs, the drip of dew.
Call all lost, joyous hearts to dance their fill,
So passers-by shall wonder, pausing there.
Remembering joy before man knew despair.
And I will keep a tame wind for my own.
And if I break your musings, now and then.
Riding by, through some lamplit dusk, alone.
You will remember lightly, once again,
A snatch of song, a vanished jest or two....
No, but for these. I'll not come back to you.