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.