To Die in Autumn.

The melody of autumn
    Is the only tune I know,
And I sing it over and over
    Because it thrills me so;
It stirs anew the happy wish,
    So near to perfect bliss,
To live a little longer in
    A world like this.

The sound was never sweeter,
    The voice so nearly mute,
As beauty, dying, loses
    Her hold upon the lute;
And like the harmonies that touch
    And blend with those above,
Forever must an echo wake
    The heart of love.

Her robe of brown and coral
    And amber glistens through
Rare jewels of the morning,
    The opals of the dew,
Like royal fabrics worn beneath
    The tinselry of pearls,
Or diamond dust by fashion strewn
    On sunny curls.

If I could wrap such garments
    In true artistic style
About myself departing,
    And wear as sweet a smile
And be as guileless as the flowers
    My friends would never sigh;
'Twould reconcile them to my death
    To see me die.

And why should there be sorrow
    When dying is no more
Than 'twixt two bright apartments
    The opening of a door
Through which the freed, enraptured soul
    From this, a paradise,
May pass to that supremely fair
    Beyond the skies?

Oh, 'twere not hard to finish
    When earth with tender grace
Prepares for her dear children
    So sweet a resting place;
And though in dissolution's throe
    The melody be riven,
The song abruptly ended here
    Goes on in Heaven.