Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call’d him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain

John Keats (1795–1821). The Poetical Works of John Keats. 1884. 40. Ode to a Nightingale