O mistress and mother of pleasure,

The one thing as certain as death,

We shall change as the things that we charish,

Shall fade as they faded before,

As foam upon water shall perish,

As sand upon the shore.

We shall know what the darkness discovers,

If the grave-pit be shallow or deep;

And our fathers of old, and our lovers,

We shall know if they sleep or not sleep.

We shall see whether hell be not heaven,

Find out whether tares be not grain,

And the joys of thee seventy times seven,

Our Lady of Pain.