There is a beauty in the rose,
And all the flora fair
But every wise Nihilist knows
'Tis wasted time to stare
At lovely things ephemeral,
At beauty bound to fade;
Be they flowers or emeralds,
Their lustre's soon mislaid.

The glory of the battlefield,
The surge of hearts in love,
All these to Nil's dark wisdom yield
For 'tis a thing above
Such mortal woes, such passing cares,
Such trivial desires.
The greatest accolades are where
So darkly burn Nil's fires!