When death hath poured oblivion through my veins And brought me home, as all are brought, to lie In that vast house, common to serfs and thanes,— I s… - Madison Cawein

Into the sunset’s turquoise marge
The moon dips, like a pearly barge;
Enchantment sails through magic seas,
To fairyland Hesperides,
Over the hills and away.

Old homes! old hearts! Upon my soul forever
Their peace and gladness lie like tears and laughter.

Why will we struggle to attain, and strive
When all we gain is but an empty dream?—
Better, unto my thinking, doth it seem
To end it all and let who will survive;<p>To find at last all beauty is but dust;
That love and sorrow are the very same;
That joy is only suffering's sweeter name;
And sense is but the synonym of lust.<p>Far better, yea, it seems to me to die;
To set glad lips against the lips of Death—
The only thing God gives that comforteth,
The only thing we do not find a lie.