Darkling I listen; and for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death, I have been half in love with easeful Death
Called him soft names in many a mused rhyme, I exhausted my words in poetry
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain, to suddenly leave the world in the middle of the night
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain -- You will still sing, but I will no longer listen
? To thy high requiem become a sod. Your reckless song can only be sung to a piece of mud and grass