The bloody goad and the illusory wand—
Cease, cease!
Cease, cease!
My life’s a burning arrow shot in the dark,
Fearfully arching heaven to find no mark.
Must it be always warfare, never peace?
Nay, then I ground my arms! I will not hark
The old command; so maybe you will cease.
This is the end of all; I quench the fire.
Calm of the hills, the rooted flowers and trees,