Classic Poem

Be mine to vanish like the gale's last breath,
Like the red gleam of evening's fading fire!
O gentle, peaceful, all unconscious death!
In the Eternal's bosom thus to expire!

Be mine to vanish like the brilliant star,
Beaming with brightness unimpaired, unclouded,
So placidly, so painlessly, afar
In Heaven's blue depths of endless glory shrouded.

Be mine to vanish like the perfume fair
That rises lightly from the cups of flowers,
And on the wing of incense-laden air
Curls from God's altar in the summer hours.

Be mine to vanish like the early dew,
When morning's thirsty eye of fire is blinking,
Would God that so my weary spirit, too,
The sunbeam of the eternal morn were drinking!

Be mine to vanish like the plaintive tone
That swells from harp-strings touched by flying fingers,
And, from the earthly metal scarcely flown,
In the Creator's breast harmonious lingers!

— Thou wilt not vanish like the gale's last breath,
Nor like the star, in placid beauty sinking,
Thou wilt not die the flower's unconscious death,
No morning beam shall thy last breath be drinking.

Yes, thou shalt vanish, vanish without trace,
Yet first shall failing strength give many a token;
In Nature only, painless death finds place,
But man's poor heart must be by pieces broken!