A dying speaker asks a nurse to soften the room’s light, and the request becomes a quiet farewell. He no longer fights; the “fitful moments” settle, and he lays rosemary and mignonette on his dead dreams and cherished hopes. What he leaves behind feels small and corrupt—cities “bought with gold and slime,” endless armies and striving. In his view, the life most people cling to is really a kind of death, a troubled dream. Now his own flame is low, and he rises above that narrow world on “sorrow strengthened wings,” searching for the freedom and open sky he imagined in youth. The mood is intimate and weary but not despairing: death is treated as release, a homecoming into eternal liberty. The repeated request to turn down the lamp makes the end feel gentle, deliberate, and even hopeful.
Turn Down the Lamp — Summary
Turn down the lamp; my life is done. The fitful moments drift to ease — Rosemary for the dreams that died. And mignonette for cherished hopes.
Turn down the lamp; my soul gains life; I rise above the narrow pale Of cities bought with gold and slime, I spread my sorrow strengthened wings Above the armies of the world, In quest of kingdoms built in youth.
The hour of death that men call life Is closing as a troubled dream, The flame within my lamp is low, I seek eternal liberty. The freedom of the endless sky. Good nurse, enfold my arms. And cool the fever of my brow, My hour has come, turn down the lamp.