To die—takes just a little while—
They say it doesn't hurt—
It's only fainter—by degrees—
And then—it's out of sight—
A darker Ribbon—for a Day—
A Crape upon the Hat—
And then the pretty sunshine comes—
And helps us to forget—
The absent—mystic—creature—
That but for love of us—
Had gone to sleep—that soundest time—
Without the weariness—
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem