THE POET TO DEATH

Tarry a while, O Death, I cannot die

While yet my sweet life burgeons with its spring;

Fair is my youth, and rich the echoing boughs

Where dhadikulas sing.

Tarry a while, O Death, I cannot die

With all my blossoming hopes unharvested,

My joys ungarnered, all my songs unsung,

And all my tears unshed.

Tarry a while, till I am satisfied

Of love and grief, of earth and altering sky;

Till all my human hungers are fulfilled,

O Death, I cannot die!