Not on the Stygian shore, nor in clear sheen
Or far Elysian plain, shall we meet those
Among the dead whose pupils we have been,
Nor those great shades whom we have held as foes;
No meadow of asfodel our feet shal tread,
Nor shall we look each other in the face
To love or hate each other being dead,
Hoping some praise, or fearing some disgrace.
We shall not argue saying “’Twas thus” or “Thus”,
Our argument’s whole drift we shall forget;
Who’s right, who’s wrong, ‘twill be all one to us;
We shall not even know that we have met.
Yet meet we shall, and part, and meet again,
Where dead men meet, on lips of living men. (On lips of living men!)