I am afraid to think about my death, When it shall be, and whether in great pain I shall rise up and fight the air for breath Or calmly wait the bursting of my brain.
I am no coward who could seek in fear A folklore solace or sweet Indian tales:
I know dead men are deaf and cannot hear The singing of a thousand nightingales.
I know dead men are blind and cannot see The friend that shuts in horror their big eyes, And they are witless--O I'd rather be A living mouse than dead as a man dies.
