O Death, if the arrow is drawn from my chest, draw the soul from my body right then; for once that arrow has been pulled out, what is the point of taking my life afterwards?

Here, the poet addresses Death with tender wit and quiet defiance. The beloved's arrow lodged in his chest is both his fatal wound and the only thing keeping him tethered to life—drawing it out means instant death. He tells Death that if that arrow must be pulled, let the soul be drawn out at the very same breath; for once the arrow has dealt its final blow, what pride or purpose is left for Death in claiming an already extinguished life?