Last Things

THERE is no one to do it for me, But I know what I shall do When the last dawn breaks o'er me And the last night is through.

I shall set in pleasant order The little books I knew, With flowers on the window ledge In a shallow bowl of blue.

I'll leave the out door swinging, (As it might swing for you) And on the clean swept door-sill Wild roses I shall strew—

So when pale Death comes trailing Her branch of sodden rue She'll gather up my gay content And know contentment too!