Roses, Violets--and all,
Beings they name to recall;
Setting all in order, to their delight,
To dispel their ever-present fright,
At knowing not what or why,
They exist 'neath the azure sky.
So too, is their being an unknown,
For, into a blank chaos are they blown;
And, save for the rational systems they invent,
All to them is nothing but meaningless accident.
Moved by fear and dread, as they face their prevision
That life is but a pathway to oblivion;
Never to know from whence they all came,
Or whether they all are eternally bound,
From this, their ever so transient, fatal ground.