Hearts that were earth-wearied;

You who know—if aught be known

In that everlasting Hush

Where the life-born years are strewn,

Where the eyeless ages rush,—

Tell me, is it conscious rest

Heals the whilom hurt of life?

Or is Nirvana undistressed

E'en by memory of strife?

III.

Metempsychosis.

When Grief comes this way by

With her wan lip and drooping eye,

Bid her welcome, woo her boldly;

Soon she'll look on thee less coldly.

Her tears soon cease to flow.

'Tis now not Grief but Joy we know;

From her smiling face the roses

Tell the glad metempsychosis.

IV.

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