Ah, love, 'tis a sorrowful land!
God is a creed outworn, Ill-wrought from a mirage fair, And life is an image pale That faces a sunless morn.
Love is a jeering mime.
Let me leap naked through life's testing flame, And bear to lose, and yet endure to win.
Oh, the morrow of pain and dole Is naught while the sunlight lingers.
And should men name me dead, I beg ye, say "Nay, he but wearied here, and went away.