The Bed By The Window

I chose the bed downstairs by the sea-window for a good death-bed When we built the house, it is ready waiting, Unused unless by some guest in a twelvemonth, who hardly suspects Its latter purpose. I often regard it, With neither dislike nor desire; rather with both, so equalled That they kill each other and a crystalline interest Remains alone. We are safe to finish what we have to finish; And then it will sound rather like music When the patient daemon behind the screen of sea-rock and sky Thumps with his staff, and calls thrice: 'Come, Jeffers.'