As a god self-slain on his own strange altar,/ Death lies dead.

Love lies bleeding in the bed whereover Roses lean with smiling mouths or pleading: Earth lies laughing where the sun's dart clove her: Love lies bleeding.

Time turns the old days to derision, Our loves into corpses or wives; And marriage and death and division Make barren our lives

From too much love of living
From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be
That no life lives for ever;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea.

Then star nor sun shall waken,
Nor any change of light:
Nor sound of waters shaken,
Nor any sound or sight:
Nor wintry leaves nor vernal,
Nor days nor things diurnal;
Only the sleep eternal
In an eternal night.

Where might is, the right is:/ Long purses make strong swords./ Let weakness learn meekness:/ God save the House of Lords!

A creed is a rod,/ And a crown is of night:/ But this thing is God:/ To be man with thy might,/ To grow straight in the strength of thy spirit, and live out thy life as the light.