Behold me waiting -- waiting for the knife. A little while, and at a leap I storm The thick, sweet mystery of chloroform, The drunken dark, the little death-in-life. The gods are good to me: i have no wife, No innocent child, to think of as I near The fateful minute; nothing all-too dear Unmans me for my bout of passive strife. Yet am I tremulous and a trifle sick, And, face to face with chance, I shrink a little: My hopes are strong, my will is something weak. Here comes the basket? Thank you. I am ready. But, gentlemen, my porters, life is brittle: You carry Caesar and his fortunes - steady! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ILLUSIONS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DE GUSTIBUS' by ROBERT BROWNING LEPANTO by GILBERT KEITH CHESTERTON THE OLD LOBSTERMAN by JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE A NAMELESS EPITAPH (1) by MATTHEW ARNOLD THE ARCIERI OF MICHELANGELO by WILLIAM ROSE BENET WRITTEN IN ZIMMERMAN'S SOLITUDE by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS |