Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/193

Impatient, it never deigned even to hear;
But the less it talks of him, the more we should raise
Around his dear name an incense of praise.
As his loved ones, we two should treasure his story,
As his loved ones, we two should give him his glory;
For once we are dead—who, who will awake him,
Bard of a day?—the dark night will o'ertake him.'
This, this would be, dear ones, my funeral oration,
I shall want, I assure you, no other ovation.
I count upon you, and for this reason, my friends,
I give you my book. Keep, keep till life ends
This Souvenir. At your breath the verses that sleep
Herein, into vigour and beauty shall leap,
As leap into loveliness sudden the flowers
At zephyr's sweet breath, to bloom through the hours.
I seek not a fleeting renown or a name,
Your memory, my children—there, there is my fame.