Classic Poem

Why? If the unremember'd are a crew
That yet will number all beneath the sun,
Though words outlive the evil that men do,
And written be their names in blood and flame,
Ev'n of the famous fam'd shall be not one!
Why lingers, then, on this greystone, the name
Of one whom all forget? Moss, water, air,
Day, night, ask Why? And our poor hearts declare
That ev'n this record is a sort of fame!
But though mute words may hallow long the spot
Where the forgotten say, “Forget us not,”
We write on graves the heart's last wish in vain!
And dust and lime, at last, alone remain
Where mind that was can never be again.