I

Crown me with flowers! to-morrow I must die;
Gather round me, loved friends, to my last feast;
Butterflies of the hour, be then released,
And sport in brighter, happier suns than mine!
I ask ye but once more the roses twine
Around my brow, to gladden my last hours,
To look upon me with a joyous eye,
And wreath the forehead of pale Death with flowers.
I had a dream that was reality:
Upon the slippery precipice of life
I stood, and mused upon the giddy strife;
But, while I gazed, the reeling ground beneath
Sunk, and in falling I beheld revealed
Life in its nakedness; the syren breath
Of perjured love, the treachery of smiles,
All that the credulous hope and faith beguiles,
All that the masking brow and heart concealed,
The painted unrealities that made
Existence beautiful while it betrayed.

II

And then I gazed around in my despair,
For thee, Ianthe! but thou wert not there,
Even thou, beloved one, hadst forsaken me,
Thou that in life wert my idolatry;
I felt that I should see that face no more.
Then the lights faded from me, all was gloom;
The dream of love, the madness of the past,
Was over, rose-wreaths in the ashes cast;
Nothing was left but slumber in the tomb
Raised on Oblivion's everlasting shore.

III

Then gather round me, drink the gushing wine!
On your crowned brows the rose with myrtle join;
Gather the tendrils, twine the laurel wreath,
And make a mockery of the shadow death.
I go but to the sleep that none can mourn;
We revel at the feast of life awhile,
With song and love and joy, the hours beguile,
And then make way for others; we depart,
But we return no more! Then cheer my heart,
And make me feel in death that I am blest.
Who would not sigh even thus to be caressed?
Who would not thus to Lethe's shore be borne,
Smiles, laughing eyes, and flowers around him shed,
While gently left the living for the dead?