As autumn strips the oak of gilded dress,
And Persephone's cart descends to Stygian shade,
So must I render up this mortal breath -
Yet mark, dear hearts, how falling leaves breed May.
Weep not as those who ne'er read Nature's tome:
The swallow quits, but circles homeward still;
Yon candle's snuff'd, yet wax remembers flame.
What's Death but Life in lunar counterpart?
Recall when twilight purpled Hampstead Heath,
We watched the rook's black crucifix take flight -
Such are we all, dark wings against God's sky,
Bound to His horoscope that chimes farewell.
When Westminster's frost etches your pane,
Know my essence persists in Time's great chain.