Then Almitra spoke, saying, We would ask now of Death.
    And he said:
    You would know the secret of death.
    But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life?
    The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light.
    If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life.
    For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.

    In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond;
    And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring.
    Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.
    Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour.
    Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark of the king?
    Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?

    For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
    And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?

    Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
    And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
    And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.

Ah, talk to me of something else, I pray;
I’m weary of the dreams that bring nor sleep,
Nor rest, nor love, nor something from the deep,
Where buried are the gods of yesterday;
Ah, talk to me of Death that takes away
My little sorrows, as they hide and peep,
My little joys, as they disport and leap,
My little vanities, my budless May.

The burden of my virtues and my sins,
The burden of authority that grins
at every effort, ah, the burden kills;
I know that Death a Sister hath, but where,
Where can I find thee, Love, when shall I share
The sweetness of the silence of the hills?

Said the folded Leaves upon the Heath
   To the opening Leaves upon the Tree:
“Soon will the Warders of the Storm
   Bring us to our Mother-Sea,
Even as they opened yesternight
   Our prison doors of Destiny:
We envy not the Birds now nor the Dew;
To them we leave the Forest and to you.”

The infant Leaves thus made reply:
   “But we rejoice that we are here;
We stand in the cerulean Gate
   Of Life to crown the dying Year.
Him who emancipates we love,
   He who enchains is also dear:
You are the Flowers of the Storm, and we,
We are the Fruits of Death upon Life’s tree.

He was a good man.
All men have to die.

O Death,
Did you ever
Fall on your knees
In tears an’ cry?

He was a good man,
Hear the widow moan.

O Death,
Do you weep—
Or is your heart
Made o’ stone?

O welcome death! I’m glad you’ve come
       ’Twill serve my purpose true:
Just cut eternity’s veil in twain
        And let my soul pass through, 
And away from Earth’s dismal scene
        And the merry making crowd, 
The giddy whirl of the banquet hall,
        To home beyond the cloud—
Ah! then, dear mother, weep no more, 
       But strive to meet me there: 
The space is small twixt life and death, 
      Fill it well with prayer—
So now, O, death, let fall thy sword, 
      ’Tis but a kiss of love
Much welcomed by the eager soul, 
    Waiting to flit above. 
Farewell to earth! Farewell to friends. 
     To maiden young and gay, 
Think well on how you spend your life, 
    For death will come one day.