I wish I were dead, my foe,
My friend, I wish I were dead,
With a stone at my tired feet
And a stone at my tired head.
In the pleasant April days
Half the world will stir and sing,
But half the world will slug and rot
For all the sap of Spring.
Christina Rossetti, Selected Poems, C. H. Sisson (ed.), Carcanet, 1984