One cricket left, of summer's choir.
One glow-worm, flashing life's last fire.
One frog with leathern croak
Beneath the oak,—
And the pool stands leaden
Where November twilights deaden
Day's unspent desire.
One star in heaven — East or West.
One wind — a gypsy seeking rest.
One prayer within my heart —
For all who part
Upon Death's dark portal,
With no hope of an immortal
Morrow for life's quest.