I ask you, gentle reader, would you scorn

the violet's death in arctic soil?

slave's last exhalation in endless toil?

Could you chide or reprimand

the Indian's rest after futile fight?

the moth's candle respite from his quest for light?

Would you then begrudge me my final rest?

Would I find a cold, unyielding breast?

And if you would that rest but kindly allow,

my final breath a kiss of thanks upon your brow.