What Shall I Think?...

What shall I think when I come to die, if only I am in a condition to think anything then?     Shall I think how little use I have made of my life, how I have slumbered, dozed through it, how little I have known how to enjoy its gifts?     'What? is this death? So soon? Impossible! Why, I have had no time to do anything yet.... I have only been making ready to begin!'     Shall I recall the past, and dwell in thought on the few bright moments I have lived through - on precious images and faces?     Will my ill deeds come back to my mind, and will my soul be stung by the burning pain of remorse too late?     Shall I think of what awaits me beyond the grave ... and in truth does anything await me there?     No.... I fancy I shall try not to think, and shall force myself to take interest in some trifle simply to distract my own attention from the menacing darkness, which is black before me.     I once saw a dying man who kept complaining they would not let him have hazel-nuts to munch!... and only in the depths of his fast-dimming eyes, something quivered and struggled like the torn wing of a bird wounded to death....     August 1879.