The Right To Die


Paul Laurence Dunbar

I have no fancy for that ancient cant

That makes us masters of our destinies,

And not our lives, to hold or give them up

As will directs; I cannot, will not think

That men, the subtle worms, who plot and plan

And scheme and calculate with such great wit,

Are such great blund'ring fools as not to know

When they have lived enough.

Men court not death

When there are sweets still left in life to taste.

Nor when a brave man choose to live when he,

Full deeply drunk of life, has reached the dregs,

And knows that now but bitterness remains.

He is the coward who, outfaced in this,

Fears the false goblins of another life.

I honor him who being much harassed

Drinks of sweet courage until drunk of it—

Then seizing Death, reluctant, by the hand,

Leaps with him, fearless, to eternal peace!

Go Back