Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown
- John Keats, Ode to a Nightingale
Concerns about mortality are usually the prerogative of older men for whom the shadow of the Grim Reaper trails not far behind. So it is always tragic when a young man is keenly away of the Reaper’s chill and can describe it so effectively.
