I shall die, but
   that is all that I shall do for Death.
 I hear him leading his horse out of the stall;
 I hear the clatter on the barn-floor.
 He is in haste; he has business in Cuba,
   business in the Balkans, many calls to make this morning.
 But I will not hold the bridle
   while he clinches the girth.
 And he may mount by himself:
 I will not give him a leg up.

Though he flick my shoulders with his whip,
   I will not tell him which way the fox ran.
 With his hoof on my breast, I will not tell him where
   the black boy hides in the swamp.
 I shall, die, but that is all that I shall do for Death;
  I am not on his pay-roll.

I will not tell him the whereabout of my friends
   nor of my enemies either.
 Though he promise me much,
   I will not map him the route to any man's door.
 Am I a spy in the land of the living,
   that I should deliver men to Death?
Brother, the password and the plans of our city
  are safe with me; never through me Shall you be overcome.