Long after we are gone，

    Summer will stroke this ridge² in blue；

    The hawk³ still flies above the flowers，

    Thinking， perhaps， the sky has fallen

    And back and forth⁴ forever he may trace

    His shadow on its azure⁵ face.

    Long after we are gone，

    Evening wind will languish⁶ here

    Between the lupine and the sage⁷

    To die a little death upon the earth，

    As though over the sundown prairies fell

    A requiem⁸ from a bronze-tongued bell.

    Long after we are gone，

    This ridge will shape the night，

    Lifting the wine-streaked west，

    Shouldering the stars.  And always here

    Lovers will walk under the summer skies

    Through flowers the color of your eyes