What Of All The Will To Do? It Has Vanished Long Ago, For A Dream-Shaft Pierced It Through From The Unknown Archer'S Bow. What Of All The Soul To Think? Some One Offered It A Cup Filled With A Diviner Drink, And The Flame Has Burned It Up. What Of All The Hope To Climb? Only In The Self We Grope To The Misty End Of Time: Truth Has Put An End To Hope. What Of All The Heart To Love? Sadder Than For Will Or Soul, No Light Lured It On Above; Love Has Found Itself The Whole.