In the vale of years beneath
A griesly troop are seen
The painful family of Death
More hideous than their Queen

To each his suff'rings: all the same
Conemn’d alike to groan
The tender for another's pain
Th' unfeeling for his own
And happiness too swiftly flies
When sign comes to bless
For to come destroy their paradise
The ignorance is bliss

“To die, to sleep – to sleep, perchance to dream – ay, there’s the rub, for in this sleep of death what dreams may come…”