Mourning the broken balance, the hopeless prostration of the earth

Mourning the broken balance, the hopeless prostration of the earth
Under men's hands and their minds,
The beautiful places killed like rabbits to make a city,
The spreading fungus, the slime-threads
And spores; my own coast's obscene future: I remember the farther
Future, and the last man dying
Without succession under the confident eyes of the stars.
It was only a moment's accident,
The race that plagued us; the world resumes the old lonely immortal
Splendor; from here I can even
Perceive that that snuffed candle had something … a fantastic virtue,
A faint and unshapely pathos …
So death will flatter them at last: what, even the bald ape's by-shot
Was moderately admirable?
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