the sons of flint and pitch
as i want to be remembered--
fallen down with the knee-tide
over my forelock, drowned in little water,
but mostly as a man
not afraid to die:
remember me my children
if you have ever remembered
tenor, if your voices have sung for me though you did not know
you sang for me:
remember, we struck a spark!
for such brittle foolish longing is not
what wets our torches or deadens our wood
but show me a good man, raise him up high on a pedestal,
and I will show you
something worth burning out for.