A Book for the Young

by Sarah French

And all's forgotten. O'er my grassy grave

The men of future times will careless tread

And read my name upon the sculptured stone;

Nor will the sound, familiar with their ears,

Recall my vanished memory. I had hoped

For better things; I hoped I should not leave

This earth without a vestige. Fate decrees

It shall be otherwise, and I submit.

Henceforth, oh, world! no more of thy desires,

No more of hope, that wanton vagrant hope;