The Poet To Death

RY 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!