Poems
And found in Time no more a god at all,
But a poor jester at Life's festival—
And Life himself a misty king of shade—
And thus incontinent his spirit strayed
Ever from vain desire to vain desire
Till Life and Death became one raging fire
And sank to chaos, and above him leapt
Gaunt forms and all in vast confusion swept
Detesting light, then fearfully he cried:
'There is no truth—no truth, the gods have lied
To man in making man,' but sudden sleep
Soothed his sad fever, and where branches sweep
Careless above a silent forest glade
He lay and heard no more man's tired feet climb
By slow degrees the burning steps of Time—
But slept, and saw in sleep the whole world fade.
But a poor jester at Life's festival—
And Life himself a misty king of shade—
And thus incontinent his spirit strayed
Ever from vain desire to vain desire
Till Life and Death became one raging fire
And sank to chaos, and above him leapt
Gaunt forms and all in vast confusion swept
Detesting light, then fearfully he cried:
'There is no truth—no truth, the gods have lied
To man in making man,' but sudden sleep
Soothed his sad fever, and where branches sweep
Careless above a silent forest glade
He lay and heard no more man's tired feet climb
By slow degrees the burning steps of Time—
But slept, and saw in sleep the whole world fade.
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