On a misty morning in early February,
Sauntering along the lonely Ganges without company,
I stumbled across a scene that made my guts wry-
A dead man on the muddy banks.
I waited, and waited, and then saw a dream:
In some certain future,
I too would join him.
And all my love,
And all my hate,
They wouldn\'t change the taste of the flesh
As the raven scavenges my head.
Why, then, must we strive?
If no effort amounts enough
To be death\'s bribe.