Oh, will it just continue in its course,
Rotating in its orbit and recede,
Recede, recede, and leave me far behind
Obscure and cold and sad and all alone?...
OSCAR WILDE
The work was done.
The spirit-moulders of immortal souls
Wiped from their brows the sweat and washed their hands,
And standing by, in full contentment gazed
Upon their wondrous work.