The gallows in my garden, people say, <br />Is new and neat and adequately tall; <br />I tie the noose on in a knowing way <br />As one that knots his necktie for a ball; <br />But just as all the neighbours--on the wall-- <br />Are drawing a long breath to shout "Hurray!" <br />The strangest whim has seized me. . . . After all <br />I think I will not hang myself to-day. <br /> <br />To-morrow is the time I get my pay-- <br />My uncle's sword is hanging in the hall-- <br />I see a little cloud all pink and grey-- <br />Perhaps the rector's mother will not call-- I fancy that I heard from Mr. Gall <br />That mushrooms could be cooked another way-- <br />I never read the works of Juvenal-- <br />I think I will not hang myself to-day. <br /> <br />The world will have another washing-day; <br />The decadents decay; the pedants pall; <br />And H.G. Wells has found that children play, <br />And Bernard Shaw discovered that they squall, <br />Rationalists are growing rational-- <br />And through thick woods one finds a stream astray <br />So secret that the very sky seems small-- <br />I think I will not hang myself to-day. <br /> <br />Envoi <br /> <br />Prince, I can hear the trumpet of Germinal, <br />The tumbrils toiling up the terrible way; <br />Even to-day your royal head may fall, <br />I think I will not hang myself to-day.<br /><br />Gilbert Keith Chesterton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-ballade-of-suicide-2/
