28
What the woods know and what the mountains know,
And what the rivers know, and man knows not.
For to my death I feel myself so nigh,
'Tis fit I leave behind me one to tell
The reason why death took me. He can write it
Upon a beech tree near where they will bury me;
And when that hard one passes by the place,
She shall rejoice to trample my poor clay
With her proud foot, and say within herself,
"This is indeed a triumph!" and rejoice
To think how all, whom chance conducts that way,
Native or stranger, shall behold her victory.
And there may come a day, (alas! it is
Too great to hope) but there may come a day,
When moved with tardy pity, she may weep
For one, when dead, whom when alive, she killed;
And say, "Ah, would that he were here, and mine!"
Now mark me.
And what the rivers know, and man knows not.
For to my death I feel myself so nigh,
'Tis fit I leave behind me one to tell
The reason why death took me. He can write it
Upon a beech tree near where they will bury me;
And when that hard one passes by the place,
She shall rejoice to trample my poor clay
With her proud foot, and say within herself,
"This is indeed a triumph!" and rejoice
To think how all, whom chance conducts that way,
Native or stranger, shall behold her victory.
And there may come a day, (alas! it is
Too great to hope) but there may come a day,
When moved with tardy pity, she may weep
For one, when dead, whom when alive, she killed;
And say, "Ah, would that he were here, and mine!"
Now mark me.
