Pagan

From time to time he halts to wonder
Where in some too fast approaching age
Mankind will burst itself asunder,
And as the last survivor turns the page,
The book of life is closed.

Twilight of the reign of greatness-wrought,
By earth's ambition, now an exile
Man must lie at last forever caught
By self-made chains he may revile
But will not break nor loosen.

Can this be all that man is for:
To live a little and to die
Then pass away and be no more?
No greatness in his death will lie,
Nor glory in his dust.

For man in passing drags down life,
And still as while to hope he clings
And dooms himself with hopeless strife,
Approaching sound of darkness brings
A heavy laden sadness.

—F. L. Curtin.