We do not know, we can not prove,
We only feel that there is love,
And something we call Heaven and Hell.
"Howbeit, here, you see, I lie,
As all shall lie—for all must die—
A cast-off, useless, empty shell,
In which an essence once did dwell;
That once, like fruit, the spirit held,
And with its husk of flesh compelled:
The mask of mind, the world of will,