Arise, tread out the fire,

Scatter the ashes of a god through the stars!

Forget to hope and aspire.

He is dead and his greatness that cumbered the world has vanished like a golden shadow from the ages.

The whip of glory, the splendid burden behind us are cast,

Earth is free from fire and stress, left to the joy of her smallness, rid of his mighty spirit at last.

All that is false and wry and little are freed to follow their nature once more.

Close time’s brilliant pages!

Give back to man’s life¹ the old tables, its dull ease, its bowed greyness restore.