The Dying Man and the Vulture

• Wait, wait yet awhile, my eager friend.
• I shall yield but too soon this wasted thing,
• Whose agony overwrought and useless
• Exhausts your patience.
• I would not have your honest hunger
• Wait upon these moments:
• But this chain, though made of breath,
• Is hard to break.
• And the will to die,
• Stronger than all things strong,
• Is stayed by a will to live
• Feebler than all things feeble.
• Forgive me, comrade; I tarry too long.
• It is memory that holds my spirit;
• A procession of distant days,
• A vision of youth spent in a dream,
• A face that bids my eyelids not to sleep,
• A voice that lingers in my ears,
• A hand that touches my hand.
• Forgive me that you have waited too long.
• It is over now, and all is faded:
• The face, the voice, the hand and the mist that brought them hither.
• The knot is untied.
• The cord is cleaved.
• And that which is neither food nor drink is withdrawn.
• Approach, my hungry comrade;
• The board is made ready.
• And the fare, frugal and spare,
• Is given with love.
• Come, and dig your beak here, into the left side,
• And tear out of its cage this smaller bird,
• Whose wings can beat no more:
• I would have it soar with you into the sky.
• Come now, my friend, I am your host tonight,
• And you my welcome guest.