Classic Poem

This is my Testament of all my gear
My limbs to larch; my eyes to marigolds,
My locks to grass: and thou, bird of the wolds
Build in my brain for nest and never fear

But if on blasted peaks the wheeling Kite
Darkens a ghastly sunset as I die
I will stretch arms from that lone crag and cry
" Thank God the Vultures have a feast tonight " .