WHEN I am dead and turned to dust, Let men say what they will, I care not aught; Let them say I was careless, indolent, Wasted the precious hours in dreaming thought, Did not the good I might have done, but spent My soul upon myself, -- sometimes let rise Thick mists of earth betwixt me and the skies: What must be must. But not that I betrayed a trust; Broke some girl's heart, and left her to her shame; Sneered young souls out of faith; rose by deceit; Lifted by credulous mobs to wealth and fame; Waxed fat while good men waned, by lie and cheat; Cringed to the strong; oppressed the poor and weak: When men say this, may some find voice to speak, Though I am dust. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE WHEEL OF BEING I by HAYDEN CARRUTH LA NOCHE TRISTE by ROBERT FROST EVERYBODY KNOWS by DAVID IGNATOW THE EXECUTIVE by DAVID IGNATOW NOBODY'S LOOKIN' BUT DE OWL AND DE MOON (A NEGRO SERENADE) by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |