So when at last the Angel of the Drink Of Darkness finds you by the river-brink, And, proffering his Cup, invites your Soul Forth to your Lips to quaff it—do not shrink. XLVII And fear not lest Existence closing your Account, should lose, or know the type no more; The Eternal Sa´kì from that Bowl has pour’d Millions of Bubbles like us, and will pour. XLVIII When You and I behind the Veil are past, Oh, but the long long while the World shall last,
You live as long as you’re remembered
