Let thy time be when it will
Impatient, despairing yet loth to go (for beauty offers her lures, has her consolations), to pace the beach was impossible; contemplation was unendurable; the mirror was broken.
Death was defiance. Death was an attempt to communicate; people feeling the impossibility of reaching the centre which, mystically, evaded them; closeness drew apart; rapture faded; one was alone.
And you as well must die, beloved dust,
And all your beauty stand you in no stead;
The Carriage held but just Ourselves ⎯
And Immortality.
To die, to sleep—
To sleep—perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub!
She seem'd a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years