II

»They die - the dead return not
Misery sits near an open grave and calls them over
A youth with hoary hair and haggard eye
They are the names of kindred, friends and lover
Which he so feebly calls - they all are gone
Fond wretch, all dead! those vacant names alone
This most familiar scene, my pain
These tombs alone remain.

Misery, my sweetest friend - oh, weep no more!
Thou wilt not be consoled - I wonder not!
For I have seen thee from thy dwelling's door
Watch the calm sunset with them, and this spot.

Was even as bright and calm, but transitory
And now thy hopes are gone, thy hair is hoary
This most familiar scene, my pain
These tombs alone remain.

First our pleasures die - and then
Our hopes, and then our fears - and when
These are dead, the debt is due
Dust claims dust and we die, too.«
- P. B. Shelley

»Be silent in that solitude, which is not loneliness
For then the spirits of the dead who stood in life before thee
Are again in death around thee
And their will shall then overshadow thee:
Be still!

All things that we love and cherish
Like ourselves must fade and perish
Such is our rude mortal lot
Love itself would, did they not?«
- E. A. Poe

»Can I see another's woe, and not be in sorrow, too?
Can I see another's grief, and not seek for kind relief?
Can I see a falling tear, and not feel my sorrow's share?
Can a father see his child weep, nor be with sorrow filled?

Can a mother sit and hear an infant groan, an infant fear?
No, no! Never can it be! Never, never can it be!
And can He who smiles on all hear the wren with sorrow's small
Hear the small bird's grief and care, hear the woes that infants bear?«
- W. Blake

»I am the key that parts the gates of fame
I am the cloak that covers cowering shame
I am the final goal of every race
I am the storm-tossed spirit's resting place
The messenger of sure and swift relieve
Welcomed with wailings and repraochful grief
The friend of those that have no friend but me
I break all chains and set all captives free
I am the cloud that, when Earth's day is done
An instant veils an unextinguished sun
I am the brooding hush that follows strife
The waking from a dream that man calls life.«
- F. E. Coates

»It is death who comforts and revives
In whom we see the only goal and hope
He gives the potion that lifts us inebriate
And courage to walk until dusk falls
He is beneath the snow, the storm, the falling rain
At the gloomy edge of sky, a dawning day
He is the famous hall of guests
Where everyone can sit and rest.«
- St. George

He gave birth to time as his maelstrom reigned
His second counts eternal, his aeons passes in a trice
His chaos embraces darkness, he fills eternal space
His voice, his sound, his life - he is the endless night
His hands, they wield the power, they let the stars align
They let the furthest suns bear light and galaxies conflate
He is the accident, the occurrence without reason
The arbitrariness of nature
The Godless Divinity