Sara Teasdale

Every night I lie awake
 And every day I lie abed
And hear the doctors, Pain and Death,
 Confering at my head.
They speak in scientific tones,
 Professional and low—
One argues for a speedy cure,
 The other, sure and slow.
To one so humble as myself
 It should be matter for some pride
To have such noted fellows here,
 Conferring at my side.

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