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!