THE GOLDEN THRESHOLD(34)
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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！ |
