To feed my soul with beauty till I die; To give my hands a pleasant task to do; To keep my heart forever filled anew With dreams and wonders which the days supply; To love all conscious living, and thereby Respect the brute who renders up its due, And know the world as planned is good and true— And thus —because there chanced to be an I! This is my life since things are as they are: One half akin to flowers and the grass: The rest a law unto the changeless star. And I believe when I shall come to pass Within the Door His hand shall hold ajar I'll leave no echoing whisper of Alas!
William Stanley Braithwaite - 1878-1962
The House of Death
LO, a house untenanted Stands beside the road of Time; They who lived there once, have fled To some other house and clime. Towers pointing to the sky With long shadows on the ground, Never shade a passerby, Never echo back a sound.