  The wind upon the mountain-side Sang to the dew: “My moments fly: In yonder valley I must die. How long thy restless gems abide!” Low to the bent and laden grass There came the whisper of the dew: “My lessening hours, how fleet and few! What months are thine ere thou shalt pass!” The grass made murmur to the tree: “My days a little time are fair; But oh! thy brooding years to share— The centuries that foster thee! Ere died the wind the tree had said: “O mountain marvellous and strong, The aeons of thine age—how long, When I and all my kin lie dead!” The mountain spake: “O sea! thy strength Forevermore I shall not face. At last I sink to thine embrace; Thy waves await my ramparts’ length.” The deep gave moan: “O stars supreme! Your eyes shall see me mute in death. Before your gaze I fade like breath Of vapors in a mortal’s dream.” Then bore the Void a choral cry, Descendent from the starry throng: “A little, and our ancient song Dies at thy throne, Eternity! Then, silence on the heavenly Deep, Wherein that music sank unheard, As shuts the midnight on a word Said by a dreamer in his sleep. |
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