If in the spirit glows no spark divine;
If soulless dust return to dust again;
If, after life, but death and dark remain —
Then it were well to make the moment thine,
Bacchante-steeping soul and sense in wine,
In lotus-lulling languors, fond desires
That heat the heart with fierce, unhallowed fires —
Till Pleasure, Circe-like, transform us into swine.
But if some subtler spirit thrill our clay,
Some God-like flame illume this fleeting dust —
Promethean fire snatched from the Olympian height —
Then must we choose the nobler, higher Way,
Seeking the Beautiful, the Pure, the Just —
The ultimate crowned triumph of the Right!