You still whispered you would not die.Yet in the nights I heard you cryLike a whipped child. . . .

I cry for those not yet dead.

I haven't read one book about
A book or memorized one plot,
Or found a mind I did not doubt,
I learned one date. And then forgot.
And one by one the solid scholars
Get the degrees, the jobs, the dollars.

Of all things, only we
have power to choose that we should die;
nothing else is free
in this world to refuse it.

Sweet beast, I have gone prowling,
a proud rejected man
who lived along the edges
catch as catch can;
in darkness and in hedges
I sang my sour tone
and all my love was howling
conspicuously alone.

Someone will have to weed and spread
The young sprouts. Sprinkle them in the hour
When shadow falls across their bed.
You should try to look at them every day
Because when they come to full flower
I will be away.