Turn Me to My Yellow Leaves

Turn me to my yellow leaves, I am better satisfied; There is something in me grieves-- That was never born, and died. Let me be a scarlet flame On a windy autumn morn, I who never had a name, Nor from breathing image born. From the margin let me fall Where the farthest stars sink down, And the void consumes me,--all In nothingness to drown. Let me dream my dream entire, Withered as an autumn leaf-- Let me have my vain desire, Vain--as it is brief.