Let me live out my years in heat of blood! 
Let me die drunken with the dreamer's wine! 
Let me not see this soul-house built of mud 
Go toppling to the dusk—a vacant shrine. 

Let me go quickly, like a candle light 
Snuffed out just at the heyday of its glow. 
Give me high noon—and let it then be night! 
Thus would I go. 

And grant that when I face the grisly Thing, 
My song may trumpet down the gray Perhaps. 
Let me be as a tune-swept fiddlestring 
That feels the Master Melody—and snaps!

Source and related links:
Letter from John G. Neihardt to Dr. Bowen, January 15, 1955
http://neihardt.unl.edu/content/nei.j4c.20.7-10.html

http://www.neihardtcenter.org/


http://archive-org.com/page/3259669/2013-12-05/http://bachlund.org/Let_me_live_out_my_years.htm