  Day breaks, and the old drama Repeats itself anew: The hind wakes to be hunted, The huntsman to pursue— The lover and the belovÈd, Each one doomed to his part; The victor and the vanquished, The hushed and the hurrying heart— In terror and in triumph They play it through again, The old, unchanging drama Of passion and of pain, As the great Will has willed it, That, in all forms being cast, Wars on Itself forever. O may they at the last— The falcon, and the fledgling He stoops to from the sky; The lips that are so eager, The lips that would deny— When the old war is ended, When the stern Will is done, Meet in eternal pity |
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