Is not Death Sleep, but a sleep going on,
On eternally—more complete again,
While it lasts, than the sleep of living men?
Sleep in its own true nature does not quit
Its hold so far of sense as to unfit
A wakened subject to collect his powers
For the due service of his working hours.
Much less—if nought with something may compare—
Than busy life’s in slumber, is Death’s care
For Self! Death owes no duty unto life,