While the soul is going!
Though at times, “Oh, Death!” I cry,
“Ope the door, thy son entreateth!”
Though from life I strive to fly,
Still the heart-clock beateth—
No, not yet I wish for thee,
Gaunt and pale remorseless king!
Soon, too soon, thou’lt come for me,
O’er life triumphing.
Glow and dance in every vein,