  THE wind of death that softly blows The last warm petal from the rose, The last dry leaf from off the tree, To-night has come to breathe on me. There was a time I learned to hate As weaker mortals learn to love; The passion held me fixed as fate, Burned in my veins early and late— But now a wind falls from above— The wind of death, that silently Enshroudeth friend and enemy. There was a time my soul was thrilled By keen ambition’s whip and spur; My master forced me where he willed, And with his power my life was filled, But now the old-time pulses stir How faintly in the wind of death! That bloweth lightly as a breath. And once, but once, at Love’s dear feet I yielded strength and life and heart; His look turned bitter into sweet, His smile made all the world complete— The wind blows loves like leaves apart— The wind of death, that tenderly Is blowing ’twixt my love and me. O wind of death, that darkly blows Each separate ship of human woes Far out on a mysterious sea, I turn, I turn my face to thee. Printed at the Everett Press Boston |
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