"The Gods! but they, the shadows of ourselves, Have past for ever. It is Nature kills, And not for her sport either. She knows nothing. Man only knows, the worse for him! for why Cannot he take his pastime like the flies? And if my pleasure breed another’s pain, Well—is not that the course of Nature too, From the dim dawn of Being—her main law Whereby she grows in beauty—that her flies Must massacre each other? this poor Nature!"