Death laughs at all you weep for!—look upon
This hourly dread of all! whose threatened sting
Turns Life to terror, even though in its sheath:
Mark! how its lipless mouth grins without breath!
XII.
Mark! how it laughs and scorns at all you are!
And yet was what you are; from ear to ear
It laughs not—there is now no fleshy bar
So called; the Antic long hath ceased to hear,
But still he smiles; and whether near or far,