Euthanasia

Wouldst see blithe looks, fresh cheeks beguile

Age? wouldst see December smile?

Wouldst see nests of new roses grow

In a bed of reverend snow?

Warm thoughts, free spirits, flattering

Winter's self into a spring?

In sum wouldst see a man that can

Live to be old, and still a man?

Whose latest and most leaden hours,

Fall with soft wings stuck with soft flowers;

And, when life's sweet fable ends,

Soul and body part like friends;

No quarrels, murmurs, no delay —

A kiss, a sigh, and so away.

This rare one, reader, wouldst thou see?

Hark hither! — and thyself be he.