Death ending all with a knife?
Over our heads truth and nature—
Still our life’s zigzags and dodges,
Ins and outs, weaving a new legislature—
God’s gold just showing its last where that lodges,
Palled beneath man’s usurpature.
So we o’ershroud stars and roses,
Cherub and trophy and garland;
Nothings grow something which quietly closes
Heaven’s earnest eye; not a glimpse of the far land