Why tremble at the thunder in the sky,
Or fear the silent shadow of the grave?
No vengeful gods look down with watchful eye,
To punish those whom nature cannot save.
The soul is but a drift of golden dust,
That scatters when the breath of life is gone;
So leave behind the hunger and the lust,
And greet the quiet glory of the dawn.
A crust of bread, a flask of simple wine,
A circle of true friends beneath the trees—
In these alone the sparks of pleasure shine,
To set the heavy, anxious heart at ease.
For when we are, then death is never near,
And when death comes, we are no longer here.
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