Last night, on coughing slightly with sharp pain

Last night, on coughing slightly with sharp pain, There came arterial blood, and with a sigh Of absolute grief I cried in bitter vein, That drop is my death-warrant: I must die. Poor meagre life is mine, meagre and poor! Rather a piece of childhood thrown away; An adumbration faint; the overture To stifled music; year that ends in May; The sweet beginning of a tale unknown; A dream unspoken; promise unfulfilled; A morning with no noon, a rose unblown— All its deep rich vermilion crushed and killed I’ th’ bud by frost:—Thus in false fear I cried, Forgetting that to abolish death Christ died.