This question would she ask, until
My tired eyes with tears would fill,
And overrun and fill again;
So that I cried out in my pain—
III
“When thou art made a heap of earth,
And all thy gain is nothing worth,
Where shall I go? Shall I too die
And fade in utter entity?
IV
“Shall my fine essence be the sport
Of idle chance and fade to nought;
The morning dew upon the flower
Dried by the sunlight in an hour?
V
“Doth God with careless eyes look down
On peopled slope and crowded town,
And, though he mark the sparrow’s death,
Think nothing more of human breath?
VI
“Or if I shall not die, but live—
What other dwelling will he give
In which to lead another life
And wage anew the ended strife?