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THE EQUINOX
XIII
DEATH
THE ways are fixed unto the last abode
Of death ; there is no sign-post on that road ;
No man hath found it, and no man shall find
The secret way under the heavens : blind
Is knowledge, for within man’s mortal brain
There is an end to thought, an end to pain;
And there is death, a cool, gray, silent place,
Calm in the afterglow of life; one grace
Kept pure and holy, and one sacred thing
In the deep centre of the mystic ring
Of life, whence all roads lead, a winding path
Through plains of dumb despair and sunless wrath.
There is one holy spot under the skies
Kept sacred from the screaming herd : there lies
The silent singer, and the dreamer asleep,
Calm in the mother-earth, and sunken deep
From all the toil of the world and the heat of day,
Buried and quite forgotten ; hidden away
From jarring strife, the myriad tongues that shout
Their petty shibboleths of faith and doubt.
One truth, one knowledge, and one thing shall save:
The cool, dark temple of the silent grave.
One knowledge and one truth: one thing alone
Shall yield the calm man seeks— the upright stone.
One life, one love, one death; and Death at last
Is master of all life to be, far passed