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The Poet To Death

by
 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!

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