Darkling I listen; and for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Called him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever, it seems rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou are pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstacy...
Though heartbreakingly sad, there is a melancholy beauty in this.
Photo by Wilfredo Lee AP