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. Echoes. 27. She Sauntered by the Swinging Seas
2. London Voluntaries. 4. Largo e Mesto
3. In Hospital. 18. Children: Private Ward
4. Rhymes and Rhythms. 12. Some Starlit Garden Grey with Dew
5. Echoes. 14. The Wan Sun Westers, Faint and Slow

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