Lo, my name is abhorred,
Lo, more than the odour of carrion
On summer days when the sky is hot.

Lo, my name is abhorred,
Lo, more than the odour of crocodiles,
More than sitting under the bank of crocodiles.

Lo, my name is abhorred,
Lo, more than a woman
Against whom a lie is told her husband.

. . . .

Death is before me today
As the odour of myrrh,
As when one sitteth under the sail on a windy day.

Death is before me today
As the odour of lotus flowers,
As one sitteth on the shore of drunkenness.

Death is before me today
As a man longs to see his house
When he has spent years in captivity.

[From Kay Redfield Jamison’s Night Falls Fast]