POET: Who can consider that the Sun must die, Yet speak of immortality ?
TRUTH: Nevertheless, Man has his immortality, As the seed of grass its immortality ; The old forever sinking that the new may arise.
POET: My life is a look into a wondrous garden As I pass a narrow casement. Then Death, like a kindly seneschal, closes the window.
TRUTH: Death ever present, ever feared ; never accepted.
POET:
Terminator of joys and separator of companions.
TRUTH: Separation is sorrow, but Death's bitterness Is the denial of Life.
If Life be lived, then is Death the perfection of Life, And Life the perfection of Death.
POET: Death, the silent friend who leads us to rest, As at evening a little child is called home by its mother.
TRUTH: To the dreamless sleep. Oh, who should fear an unmolested sleep, Where the wind runs through the grass. And the flowers softly bow their heads In melancholy contemplation of their own loveliness?
POET: Who would stop the wheel of endless Beneficence And undiminished Wonder?
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