Page:Bierce - Collected Works - Volume 04.djvu/339

OF AMBROSE BIERCE

I dreamed that I was dead. The years went by: The world remembered gratefully that I
 * Had lived and written, although other names

Once hailed with homage, had in turn to die.

Out of my grave a giant beech upgrew. Its roots transpierced my body, through and through.
 * My substance fed its growth. From many lands

Men came in troops that noble tree to view.

'Twas sacred to my memory and fame— But Julian Hawthorne's wittol daughter came
 * And with untidy finger daubed upon

Its bark a reeking record of her name.

The rain is fierce. It flogs the earth,
 * And man's In danger.

O that my mother at my birth
 * Had borne a stranger!