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!

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