Turn Me To My Yellow Leaves





Turn me to my yellow leaves,

I am better satisfied;

There is something in me grieves--

That was never born, and died.

Let me be a scarlet flame

On a windy autumn morn,

I who never had a name,

Nor from breathing image born.

From the margin let me fall

Where the farthest stars sink down,

And the void consumes me,--all

In nothingness to drown.

Let me dream my dream entire,

Withered as an autumn leaf--

Let me have my vain desire,

Vain--as it is brief.





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