The Long Rest
For some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That from his Vintage rolling Time has prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to rest.
And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom,
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend---ourselves to make a Couch---for whom?
Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and---sans End!
Vedder's note: This figure, representing Being, descends to a still
profounder rest than that of sleep, as shown by the poppies falling from
her hand. She is throwing aside the garment of life, and the flame of
her existence is flickering to its close.