The leaves are sick and jaundiced, they br Drift down the air; br December's sky is sodden grey, br Dark with despair; br A bleary dawn will light anon br A world of care. br br My name is cut into a stone, br No care have I; br The letters drool, as I alone br Forgotten lie: br With weed my grave is overgrown, br None cometh nigh. br br A hundred hollow years will speed br As I decay; br And I'll be comrade to the weed, br Kin to the clay; br Until some hind in homing-need br Will pass my way. br br Until some lover seeking hearth br With joy will see br My nameless stone sunk in the earth br And it will be br The ruddy birth of childish mirth, br And elder glee. br br And none will dream it bore my name br Decades ago; br A scribbling fool of little fame, br Who loved life so . . .