Poem by William Ernest Henley

In Hospital. 4. Before

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!

1. In Hospital. 12. Etching
2. In Hospital. 3. Interior
3. Envoy
4. Echoes. 44. If It Should Come to Be
5. Echoes. 22. The West a Glimmering Lake of Light

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