by: Ambrose Bierce (1842-1914)
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.
POEMS BY AMBROSE BIERCE
"A Nightmare" is reprinted
from The Collected Works of Ambrose Bierce Vol. IV: Shapes
of Clay. Ambrose Bierce. New York: Neale Publishing Company,