My own dim life should teach me this, 
That life shall live for evermore, 
Else earth is darkness at the core, 
And dust and ashes all that is;

This round of green, this orb of flame, 
Fantastic beauty; such as lurks 
In some wild Poet, when he works 
Without a conscience or an aim.

What then were God to such as I? 
'Twere hardly worth my while to choose 
Of things all mortal, or to use 
A tattle patience ere I die;

'Twere best at once to sink to peace, 
Like birds the charming serpent draws, 
To drop head-foremost in the jaws 
Of vacant darkness and to cease.