Authors:
  • Why will we struggle to attain, and strive,
    When all we gain is but an empty dream?--
    Better, unto my thinking, doth it seem
    To end it all and let who will survive;
    To find at last all beauty is but dust;
    That love and sorrow are the very same;
    That joy is only suffering's sweeter name;
    And sense is but the synonym of lust.
    Far better, yea, to me it seems to die;
    To set glad lips against the lips of Death--
    The only thing God gives that comforteth,
    The only thing we do not find a lie.

    Madison Julius Cawein, “The Land Of Illusion”