How little they will remember,
 How soon we all forget,
As March drifts to September
 And time absolves the debt.

How much we took for granted,
 As they shall, in their turn,
Plundering groves we planted—
 Perhaps, in time, to learn

Of the lore of generations—
 Of zero, maize and wheel,
Or the reach and fall of nations,
 Of azimuth and keel—

How little the earth remembers,
 As fire repels the ice,
Of the alchemy of embers—
 And silent sacrifice.