The earth is hoar with many a thousand years,
And many a nation’s mute observance hung
On brighter ministers than woman’s tears,
Immutable still, as when their course begun;
Once large luxuriance fostered giant forms,
Huge sepulchres contain their trampled pride;
Nature, or glutted, or transposed by storms,
Invites man sail o’er Being’s former tide:
Without one tear those calm, clear worlds looked down,
And haply smile at mortals’ eagerness;
They seem to murmur, grasp your bauble crown,
Scan not too near your treasure’s meagreness:
All changes; but one essence guides the change,
Involved, immortal, it must onward range.