(From Leconte de Lisle)

Better a living dog (the Preacher said)
Than a dead lion. All things are shadow, save
To eat and drink. And the everlasting grave
With life's ephemeral nothingness is fed.

So mused he, sitting alone and somberly
On the high tower with eyes that roamed afar
As from a headland over world and star,
In the ancient nights, on his chair of ivory.

Old lover of the sun, who sorrowed thus,
Death too is but illusion, cheating us.
Happy is he, at one step freed of strife.

Always I hear, with frightened ears attending,
Amid the frenzy and horror never-ending,
The long, long roaring of eternal life.