Away to the gardens more pure and more fair.
As the moon-ray dissolves on the lake's tranquil breast,
Or the morn-mists float off to their home in the west;
Like the iris that gladdens a moment our eyes,
With its colors prismatic, then blends with the skies,
Such peaceful and holy departure is thine;
Euthanasia like this, sweetest flow'ret, be mine!