Soon is the struggle past, and to the earth,
To the eternal sun, I render back
These atoms, joined in me for pain and pleasure.
… there remains naught save a modicum of senseless dust
Such is the end of man−−the only spoil
We carry with us from life’s battle−field,
Is but an insight into nothingness,
And utter scorn of all which once appeared
To us exalted and desirable.
