Grave them in rock to front the thundering sky.
From Time’s proud feast, when it is time to go,
Take the dark road; bid one more world good-bye.
The lie may steal an hour.
The truth has living roots, and they strike deep.
A moment’s glory kills the rootless flower,
While the true stem is gathering strength in sleep.
Out of this earth, this dust,
Out of this flesh, this blood, this living tomb;
Out of these cosmic throes of wrath, and lust,