Must in death your daylight finish? My sun sets to rise again.
And gain is gain, however small.
My care is for myself; Myself am whole and sole reality.
And inasmuch as feeling, the East's gift, Is quick and transient,- comes, and lo! is gone, While Northern thought is slow and durable.
At last awake from life, that insane dream we take for waking now.
They are perfect; how else?-they shall never change: We are faulty; why not?-we have time in store.