Life is the lust of a lamp for the light that is dark till the dawn of the day when we die.
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Time turns the old days to derision, Our loves into corpses or wives; And marriage and death and division Make barren our lives
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Here, where the world is quiet, Here, where all trouble seems Dead winds' and spent waves' riot In doubtful dreams of dreams;
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Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean; the world has grown grey from thy breath; We have drunken of things Lethean; and fed on the fullnes...
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O sleepless heart and sombre soul unsleeping, That were athirst for sleep and no more life...
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I shall die as my fathers died, and sleep as they sleep; even so. For the glass of the years is brittle wherein we gaze for a span;...
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From too much love of living, From hope and fear set free,...
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Content thee, howsoe'er, whose days are done; There lies not any troublous thing before,...
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