Turn me to my yellow leaves, <br />I am better satisfied; <br />There is something in me grieves-- <br />That was never born, and died. <br />Let me be a scarlet flame <br />On a windy autumn morn, <br />I who never had a name, <br />Nor from breathing image born. <br />From the margin let me fall <br />Where the farthest stars sink down, <br />And the void consumes me,--all <br />In nothingness to drown. <br />Let me dream my dream entire, <br />Withered as an autumn leaf-- <br />Let me have my vain desire, <br />Vain--as it is brief.<br /><br />William Stanley Braithwaite<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/turn-me-to-my-yellow-leaves/
