. . . Oh! . . . Well, there are
worse ways.
But why aim it at my feet -- unless you fear you may be sorry. . . .
There are many days ahead of you."
"I do not see those days."
"I can see them. Granted even I am wrong, there are the children.
And are they to praise their father for his insight if we die?
Do you hear them? Do you hear them overhead -- the children -- singing?
Do you hear them? Do you hear the children?"
"Damn the children!"
"Why?
What have THEY done? . . . Well, then, -- do it. . . . Do it now,
and have it over."
"Oh, you devil! . . . Oh, you. . . ."
"No, I'm not a devil, I'm a prophet --
One who sees the end already of so much that one end more
Would have now the small importance of one other small illusion,
Which in turn would have a welcome where the rest have gone before.
But if I were you, my fancy would look on a little farther
For the glimpse of a release that may be somewhere still in sight.
Furthermore, you must remember those two hundred invitations
For the dancing after dinner. We shall have to shine tonight.
We shall dance, and be as happy as a pair of merry spectres,
On the grave of all the lies that we shall never have to tell;
We shall dance among the ruins of the tomb of our endurance,
And I have not a doubt that we shall do it very well.
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