I Don't Want To Die. But I

O Fateful Flower Beside The Rill- The Daffodil, The Daffodil!

It Is A Comely Fashion To Be Glad; Joy Is The Grace We Say To God.

O Woman! Thou Wert Fashioned To Beguile: So Have All Sages Said, All Poets Sung.

I Opened The Doors Of My Heart. And Behold, There Was Music Within And A Song, And Echoes Did Feed On The Sweetness, Repeating It Long. I Opened The Doors Of My Heart. And Behold, There Was Music That Played Itself Out In Aeolian Notes: Then Was Heard, As A Far-away Bell At Long Intervals Tolled.

O Sleep! O Sleep! Do Not Forget Me. Sometimes Come And Sweep, Now I Have Nothing Left, Thy Healing Hand Over The Lids That Crave Thy Visits Bland, Thou Kind, Thou Comforting One. For I Have Seen His Face, As I Desired, And All My Story Is Done. O, I Am Tired.