I wage not any feud with Death
         For changes wrought on form and face;
         No lower life that earth's embrace
May breed with him, can fright my faith.
Eternal process moving on,
         From state to state the spirit walks;
         And these are but the shatter'd stalks,
Or ruin'd chrysalis of one.
Nor blame I Death, because he bare
        The use of virtue out of earth:
        I know transplanted human worth
Will bloom to profit, otherwhere.

For this alone on Death I wreak
        The wrath that garners in my heart;
        He put our lives so far apart
We cannot hear each other speak.