I saw a dead corpse making a strange cry,
With dead feet planted on a high tomb's floor;
The dead stand round, with faces that implore;
His dead hands bless them, stretched forth on high.
--And art thou God?--and art thou majesty?--
And art thou he whom all the dead adore?--
And art thou he that hath the skies in store?--
Nay, nay, dead dust, dead dust, and vanity.
And wouldst thou rise up to the lighted sky?--
Nay, nay, thy limbs are rotten on the floor;
Thou shalt not out from thy polluted sty;
Thou wouldst become divinity once more,
Thou dreamest of splendour that shall never die
And in thy heart the worms lie evermore.