by John G. Neihardt

Let me live out my years

Let me live out my years in heat of blood! 
Let me die drunken with the dreamer's wine! 
Let me not see this soul-house built of mud 
Go toppling to the dusk—a vacant shrine. 

Let me go quickly, like a candle light 
Snuffed out just at the heyday of its glow. 
Give me high noon—and let it then be night! 
Thus would I go. 

And grant that when I face the grisly Thing, 
My song may trumpet down the gray Perhaps. 
Let me be as a tune-swept fiddlestring 
That feels the Master Melody—and snaps!




Source and related links:
Letter from John G. Neihardt to Dr. Bowen, January 15, 1955

Poetry by Editorial Team The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 1217 times
Written on 2015-01-31 at 00:00

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