Poems, Series 3: XLVI. Dying.

XLVI. Dying.

I HEARD a fly buzz when I died;
        The stillness round my form
Was like the stillness in the air
        Between the heaves of storm.

The eyes beside had wrung them dry,
        And breaths were gathering sure
For that last onset, when the king
        Be witnessed in his power.

I willed my keepsakes, signed away
        What portion of me I
Could make assignable, -- and then
        There interposed a fly,

With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz,
        Between the light and me;
And then the windows failed, and then
        I could not see to see.

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