These wandering atoms in their day
Perhaps have passed this very way,
With eager step and flowerlike face,
With lovely ardor, poise, and grace,
On what delightful errands bent,
Passionate, generous, and intent,—
An angel still, though veiled and gloved,
Made to love us and to be loved.
Friends, when the summons comes for me
To turn my back (reluctantly)
On this delightful play, I claim
Only one thing in friendship's name;
And you will not decline a task
So slight, when it is all I ask:
Scatter my ashes in the street
Where avenue and crossway meet.
I beg you of your charity,
No granite and cement for me,
To needlessly perpetuate
An unimportant name and date.