The whole magnificence of the secular order

Is not enough.

The secrets of the atom and the star

May wake out wonder,

And from such knowledge we may inherit ease,

Wealth, and freedom from disease,

Pain and economic disorder,

And postpone the burning of our bones

To crematorial dust.

But what of joy?

The antique pleasures of the simple life,

The freedom to be alone, to get drunk or sleep,

And damn the consequences.

It is not the world that we have to fear,

But one another;

Now that we can neither kill nor love

Our brother,

But merely use him as a measurement

Of our success or failure.

In the world that we are creating

All manner of felicity shall be ours,

And gently, gently, shall we meet with death,

And when we have departed

We shall have the satisfaction of knowing

That no one anywhere

Will really care;

Dust unto dust returning

In the still air.

January 1961