The Materialist

MY soul has left its tent of clay And seeks from star to star, 'Mid flaming worlds that are to be, And fruitful worlds that are, The Voice which spake and said "Live on!" (When Death said, "You may die") And sent my spirit wandering The stairway of the sky.

Still must I seek what on the earth I sought as fruitlessly— The world I knew, the heaven I scorned Lost in infinity: Alone, and on the ageless breath Of cosmic whirlwinds spun, I hurtle through the outer dark Toward some fantastic sun!—

O God! how happy is the leaf, A sweet and soulless thing, Dying to live but in the green Of yet another Spring— These heights, these depths, these flaming worlds, This stairway of the sky I'd give, had no Voice said "Live on!" (When Death said, "You may die")