Death is the end of life; ah, why

She only said, ‘My life is dreary,

Forward, forward let us range,

Music that gentlier on the spirit lies,

Till the war-drum throbbed no longer, and the battle-flags were furled

Science moves, but slowly slowly, creeping on from point to point.

Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rained a ghastly dew

Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales.

Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new:

For I dipped into the future, far as human eye could see,