XXIII

The pale and misty particles of Time

Hover about us; scarce our eyes can see

Youth's far-off dream of what we were to be.

Life's truth, which once we would redeem with rhyme,

Has proved instead a world-worn pantomime.

The running river of expediency

Has drowned the hopes that Fortune held in fee —

Why fall upon the track so many climb?

Why strive to speak what all the earth has heard?

Why labor at a work the ages plan?—

Life has been lived so oft — an outworn thing!

Then hark! the time-sweet carol of a bird,

New as a flower; and see — ah, shame to man!

The endless aspiration of the Spring.