“Young wheat-stalks grow spared by the dreaded scythe;

Unpressed, grapes ripen and delight our eyes

Till summer’s end is met.
And I, like them, young, fair and full of life,
Even though this moment has much pain and strife—
I do not want to die just yet.

Let dry-eyed stoics calmly welcome death.

I weep and hope; at winter’s icy breath
I shiver and look up.
Some days are bitter; others are so fine!
All seas have storms, and even the sweetest wine
Has dregs left in the cup.

Fertile illusion blossoms in my breast.

In vain am I by prison walls oppressed:
Hope stirs and gives me wings.
Having escaped the catcher’s cruel net,
Freer and more alive, and happier yet
The bluebird soars and sings.

Is it for me to die? I sleep in peace

And wake up calm, and spend my hours in ease
No shame or guilt destroy.
Each day, my welcome smiles from every face;
Amid despair, my presence in this place
Almost rekindles joy.

My journey is so far from being done!

The elms that line my path have just begun,
The eye can’t see their end.
At life’s great feast, which offers one so much,
My lips have barely had a chance to touch
The cup held in my hand.

This is my spring; I want to see the fall.

The sun completes the seasons, one and all,
And so will I—I must.
A gorgeous budding rose, the garden’s gem,
I’ve seen the morning shine; don’t cut my stem
Till I have seen the dusk.

Death, you can wait; do not, do not come near!

Go comfort those whose souls are racked by fear,
Pale misery or regret;
For me, Nature still has her emerald bowers;
The Muses, arts; and Love, her tender hours:
I do not want to die just yet.”

Thus in my sad imprisonment awoke

My lyre, as this young captive wept and spoke,
And uttered plaints and vows;
And, shaking off my woes, to laws of verse
I gently bent and shaped the candid words
That came from her sweet mouth.

These stanzas, in a dungeon’s gloom inspired,

Someday will make some studious soul inquire
Who was that lovely girl.
Grace filled her speech and her exquisite gaze,
And one would dread, like her, the end of days
If one shared those days with her.