EPILOGUE

The Database of Ornament

            LET us go hence : the night is now at hand ;
                   The day is overworn, the birds all flown,
                   And we have reaped the crops the gods have sown,
               Despair and death ; deep darkness o’er the land

               Broods like an owl : we cannot understand
            Laughter or tears, for we have only known
            Surpassing vanity ; vain things alone
         Have driven our perverse and aimless band.

         Let us go hence somewhither strange and cold,
            To hollow lands, where just men and unjust
         Find end of labour ; where ‘s rest for the old,
            Freedom to all from fear and love and lust.
         Twine our torn hands ! O, pray, the earth enfold
            Our life-sick hearts and turn them into dust !

                                                                        ERNEST DOWSON.