(_A Chant of Immortality_)
No torches light the tragic night
In which I grope,
Friend have I none under the sun,
Nor hope.
Heedless I press past deeds that bless
And deeds that damn.
For I know this, that while Life is,
I am.
Beholding me, the Fateful Three
Ironies chortle.
Creeds are a sham. Gods die. I am
Immortal.
The pristine cell wherein I dwell
Outlasts the stars,
Renewing life ’spite cosmic strife
And scars.
Through pain and fear I persevere
Upreared from sod
And primal slime, to challenge Time
And God.