Is this the end? is there no end but this?
Yea, none beside:
No other end for pride
And foulness and besottedness.

Hath she no friend? hath she no clinging friend?
Nay, none at all;
Who stare upon her fall
Quake for themselves with hair on end.

Will she be done away? vanish away?
Yea, like a dream;
Yea, like the shades that seem
Somewhat, and lo! are nought by day.

Alas for her amid man's helpless moan,
Alas for her!
She hath no comforter:
In solitude of fire she sits alone.