Tho’ world on world in myriad myriads roll

Round us, each with different powers,

And other forms of life than ours,

What know we greater than the soul? 265

On God and Godlike men we build our trust.

Hush, the Dead March wails in the people’s ears:

The dark crowd moves, and there are sobs and tears:

The black earth yawns: the mortal disappears;

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; 270

He is gone who seem’d so great,—