Makes foolishness of wisdom, and creates
The fear of death, because it terminates
But in corruption and the feast of worms.
To go into the grave—if that were all,
No one would shrink from it; but that the thought
That this fair form should formless be, the shape
Be shapeless, decomposed, and fall to nought,
Preys on the mind, and hinders it from rest.
And few there are who seek the saving peace
That here can reconcile us to our doom.