Death Portraits: An Idealist

Last night I left him very ill,
Cover his face; it is too still,
It is too cold and stark.
These were the words I read in his eyes
As he turned toward the Dark:

The winds of death blow all lights out,
As a man goes to the tomb,
Save the one candle light of faith
That flickers in the gloom.
His mind gutters and smokes in his brain,
And desire's flame fades out,
But always there is one faint beam
Throwing before him a brave gleam,
And denying life is only a dream
Wrought by an atom-rout.

These were his words. Cover his face;
Soul from it has gone.
Light a candle in its place:
He fares farther on.