When the Angel has blown on his trumpet a rat-a-tat-tat,
And the final encounter of armies is finished and fought;
When the ultimate wire has been snapped on the ultimate rat,
And the ultimate saucer been licked by the ultimate cat;
When the last little flower has pined in the last little pot,
And the last little ditty has come to the last little dot, —
I will surely be happy — who wouldn’t? — at that being that;
Though I wonder if really I will be as much as I ought.

From Boundaries