Explore "Nos Immortales" by Stephen Vincent Benet on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Perhaps we go with wind and cloud and sun, / Into the free companionship of air; / Perhaps with sunsets when the day is done, / All's one to me -- I do not greatly care; / So long as there are brown hills -- and a tree / Like a mad prophet in a land of dearth -- / And I can lie and hear eternally / The vast monotonous breathing of the earth.
I have known hours, slow and golden-glowing, / Lovely with laughter and suffused with light, / O Lord, in such a time appoint my going, / When the hands clench, and the cold face grows white, / And the spark dies within the feeble brain, / Spilling its star-dust back to dust again.