I would be gone, O vanished like a dust
Before the slow-wafting typhoon.
And all the memories, like ashes in the gust
Of wind; would dispel very soon.
Let my voice echo in the echoing wood
And my name, ‘pon the sand of time,
Rock of Ages, either of bad or good;
Be written to be remembered o’er time.
For I have swept the garden of histories,
O changed the names in Hall of Fame.
And reversed the era beyond stories,
Tales and legends from which they came.
O! Tell the townspeople, the countrymen
That the rain patters my absence
And each river, casket of crispy glen
Sounds the absence of my presence.