Recalled

 Long after there were none of them alive 
About the place—where there is now no place 
But a walled hole where fruitless vines embrace 
Their parent skeletons that yet survive 
In evil thorns—none of us could arrive
At a more cogent answer to their ways 
Than one old Isaac in his latter days 
Had humor or compassion to contrive.
 

I mentioned them, and Isaac shook his head: 
“The Power that you call yours and I call mine
Extinguished in the last of them a line 
That Satan would have disinherited.
 
When we are done with all but the Divine, 
We die.
” And there was no more to be said.

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