* * *

So, what then is my name to you?
Oh, it will die, like doleful jingle
Of billows on the distant shingle,
Like dark night’s sound in forest, too.

Upon the list of those who’ve gone
Its memory will but scarcely linger –
A tombstone’s screed by unknown finger
In an obscure and unknown tongue.

What does it mean? Forgotten long
With fresh rebellion’s new excitement,
My name will not produce incitement
Of gentle, pure memento’s song.

But when trial comes, I humbly plea
That, grieving, you may memory summon;
That you may say: “Yes, there is someone
Whose heart remains a home for me.”