Poetry Archives

The dying words of Goethe.


“Light! more light! the shadows deepen,
   And my life is ebbing low,
Throw the windows widely open:
   Light! more light! before I go.

“Softly let the balmy sunshine
   Play around my dying bed,
E’er the dimly lighted valley
   I with lonely feet must tread.

“Light! more light! for Death is weaving
   Shadows ’round my waning sight,
And I fain would gaze upon him
   Through a stream of earthly light.”

Not for greater gifts of genius;
   Not for thoughts more grandly bright,
All the dying poet whispers
   Is a prayer for light, more light.

Heeds he not the gathered laurels,
   Fading slowly from his sight;
All the poet’s aspirations
   Centre in that prayer for light.

Gracious Saviour, when life’s day-dreams
   Melt and vanish from the sight,
May our dim and longing vision
   Then be blessed with light, more light.