Epilogue and Funeral March

Our hunting fathers told the story

Of the sadness of the creatures,

Pitied the limits and the lack

Set in their finished features;

Saw in the lion's intolerant look,

Behind the quarry's dying glare,

Love raging for the personal glory

That reason's gift would add

The liberal appetite and power,

The rightness of a god.

Who nurtured in that fine tradition

Predicted the result,

Guessed love by nature suited to

The intricate ways of guilt;

That human company could so

His southern gestures modify

And make it his mature ambition

To think no thought but ours,

To hunger, work illegally,

And be anonymous?