When I Have Passed Away

When I have passed away and am forgotten,

 And no one living can recall my face,

When under alien sod my bones lie rotten

 With not a tree or stone to mark the place;

Perchance a pensive youth, with passion burning,

 For olden verse that smacks of love and wine,

The musty pages of old volumes turning,

 May light upon a little song of mine,

And he may softly hum the tune and wonder

 Who wrote the verses in the long ago;

Or he may sit him down awhile to ponder

 Upon the simple words that touch him so.