"All—it may be. Yet lie to sleep, and lo,
The soul seems quenched in Darkness—is it so?
Rather believe what seemeth not than seems
Of Death—until we know—until we know."
"So wastes the Hour—gone in the vain pursuit
Of This and That we strive o'er and dispute.
Better be jocund with the fruitful Grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter Fruit."
"Better—unless we hope the Shadow 's thrown
Across our Path by glories of the Unknown
Lest we may think we have no more to live
And bide content with dim-lit Earth alone."
"Then, strange, is't not? that of the myriads who
Before us passed the door of Darkness through
Not one returns to tell us of the Road,
Which to discover we must travel too?"
"Such is the ban! but even though we heard
Love in Life's All we still should crave the word
Of one returned. Yet none is sure, we know,
Though they lie deep, they are by Death deterred."
"Send then thy Soul through the Invisible
Some letter of the After-life to spell:
And by and by thy Soul returned to thee
But answers, 'I myself am Heaven and Hell.'"
"From the Invisible, he does. But sent
Through Earth where living Goodness though 'tis blent
With Evil dures, may he not read the Voice,
'To make thee but for Death were toil ill-spent'?"
"Well, when the Angel of the darker drink
At last shall find us by the river-brink,
And offering his Cup invite our souls
Forth to our lips to quaff, we shall not shrink."
"No. But if in the sable Cup we knew
Death without waking were the fateful brew,
Nobler it were to curse as Coward Him
Who roused us into light—then light withdrew."
"Then thou who didst with pitfall and with gin
Beset the Road I was to wander in,
Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil round
Enmesh, and then impute my fall to sin."