…from the quills of the dead white poets
Robert William Service (1874 – 1958)
Just think! some night the stars will gleam
Upon a cold, grey stone,
And trace a name with silver beam,
And lo! ‘twill be your own.
This night is speeding on to greet
Your epitaphic rhyme.
You life is but a little beat
Within the heart of Time.
A little gain, a little pain,
A laugh, lest you may moan;
A little blame, a little flame,
A star-gleam on a stone.