By these shall you remember
The syllables of me;
The grass in cushioned clumps around
The root of cedar tree.
The blue and green design
Of sky and budding leaves,
The joyous song that in the sun
A golden ladder weaves.
When soil is wet and warm
And smells of the new rain,
When frogs accost the evening
With their recurrent strain,
Then damn me if you dare.
I know how you will call,
But this time I will laugh and run,
Nor look at you at all.
Or, if you will, go walking
With immortality,
But never shall you once forget
The syllables of me.