Woe to us! - even the mallows, when blighted they die in the garden,
Even the pale-leav'd parsleys, and green anet crowding the meadow,
Afterward live once more, and bloom for another bright summer:
But,- all that we are men, tho' mightiest, greatest, and wisest,
When that we perish, we lie in the cold hollow earth forgotten,
Sleeping a destin'd sleep, unawakable, dreamless, eternal.