On Death

Means death so much? Is it so great an ill
As most men think? . . . Birth was not pain-bestead,
And we shall feel no pain when we are dead.
Let be! What birth began, death must fulfil.

"But thou shalt cease to be!" "What then? . . . The chill
That leaves our bodies hueless, cold, and dread,
Ends feeling too. The fateful Spinner's thread
Once broken, there 's no longing, wish, nor will.

"Thou shalt not eat." I shall have no desire
Toward meat or drink. The body by such fare
Lengthens its life and our dependency;

The spirit needs them not. "But love, the fire
Of joy, shall fail thee." And I shall not care.
He that escapes desire, at last is free.