After long life if I could be bereft
Of this Earth's passion and its endless pain,
And then, if I could live my life again
As one by Death forgotten and youth left,
I wonder should I long, with all the deft
Desires of my now free, unshackled brain
To enter Life's arena? Should I gain —
No more 'twixt hope and mortal anguish cleft —
A disembodied view of soul and sense,
A swift solution of the mystery
Of Life's great pageant, and the poor pretense
Of Heaven's high-handed inconsistency?
So visioned, would I still kneel unto God,
Or yield obeisance to the soulless sod?