This truth within thy mind rehearse, That in a boundless universe Is boundless better, boundless worse.
What's up is faith, what's down is heresy.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver.
Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand the downward slope to death.
The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.
I hold it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things.