IN THE PARK

This dense hard ground I tread.

These iron bars that ripple past,

Will they unshaken stand when I am dead

And my deep thoughts outlast?

Is it my spirit slips,

Falls, like this leaf I kick aside;

This firmness that I feel about my lips,

Is it but empty pride?

Mute knowledge conquers me;

I contemplate them as they are,

Faint earth and shadowy bars that shake and flee,

Less hard, more transient far

Than those unbodied hues

The sunset flings on the calm river;

And, as I look, a swiftness thrills my shoes

And my hands with empire quiver.

Now light the ground I tread,

I walk not now but rather float;

Clear but unreal is the scene outspread,

Pitiful, thin, remote.

Poor vapour is the grass,

So frail the trees and railings seem,

That, did I sweep my hand around,‘ twould pass

Through them, as in a dream.

Godlike I fear no changes;

Shatter the world with thunders loud,

Still would I ray-like flit about the ranges

Of dark and ruddy cloud.