Leave-Taking From Life

The deep wound burns, —my parched lips coldly
quiver, —
I feel, by my faint heart's unsteady beating,
That the last pulse of my young life is fleeting, —
God, to thy hands my spirit I deliver!
How sounds of coming death all harslily sever
The fair dream-music, whore bright forms were meeting!
Yet, courage! what hath given my heart true greeting,
I shall yet keep to dwell with me forever!
And all towards which my worship here ascended,
What my hot youth, with fieriest zeal defended,
Now viewed in Freedom, —once with Love all blended,
I see, as a light seraph, o'er me flying,—
And whilst each fainting sense is slowly dying,
It wafts sweet airs with Heaven's morn-frao-rance sighing!