ars does not need your sympathy
          Its life was in its youth
When by its rivers and its streams
          Lived those who fashioned mighty dreams
And those who sought for truth.

Our quest for knowledge then was theirs
          Our fires were in their brains
What is there we may not believe
          They had the vigor to achieve
Though only sand remains.

Perhaps they wore alien forms
          But still aspired as we
They had delight in beauty then
          They were not far removed from men
In thought and imagery.

The cairns they built as monuments
          To testify their strength
Stood up a million years or so
          Yet by disintegration slow
Were merged with dust at length.

They did not change the universe
          They only dared to try
And when their race had run its spate
          And they had failed, in failure great
They had no fear to die.

They knew the dignity of death
          Felt in its sternness peace
When they were wearied of all strife
          An all that tumult which is life
They sought a sure release.

There is no tragedy in this
          In failure no defeat
The gift of life is one to spend
          And all delight has but one end:
Oblivion is sweet.