'He had revenge on Death, for he died well,'
A poet wrote in life's far distant spring,
Stumbling on truth. Death's fabled heaven and hell
And drearier prospect yet the new times bring
Of a blank nothingness hedge like a ring
The seeming self whose lifelong passing bell
Tolls in his ears, although the mind may cing
To fragile hopes the gathering years dispel.

But 'Die before you die' the Prophet said:
Give up the seeming self that from the world
Falls into death; remains that Self instead
Wherein earth, heaven and hell like dreams are furled.

The world in you, not you in it, has died,
For That you are and nothing else beside.