The sweetest service of the most dolorous Cross.
Ye shall prevail at last! Surely ye shall prevail!
Your silence and your austerity shall win at last:
Desire and Mirth, the world’s ephemeral lights shall fail,
The sweet star of your queen is never overcast.
We fling up flowers and laugh, we laugh across the wine;
With wine we dull our souls and careful strains of art;
Our cups are polished skulls round which the roses twine:
None dares to look at Death who leers and lurks apart.
Move on, white company, whom that has not sufficed!