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!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem