Ultima Verba
NOT being in my coffin, yet I knowWhat suffocations crowd their breath who goThrough some mischance alive into the grave;Not having any wound at all to shoutBelief to Thomas who must see or doubt,I feel my life blood ebbing wave on wave.
And yet this knowledge cannot summon strengthTo rend apart the life-impaling lengthOf these strong boards that hold my body down;There is no cloth, no cool and radiant stuff(Save fashioned by your hand) healing enoughTo staunch this thin red flow in which I drown.
I am as one knowing what day he dies,Who looks in vain for mercy into eyesNo glints of pity shade, no pardons stir,
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