Even This Will Pass Away

Touched with the delicate green of early May, Or later, when the rose uplifts her face, The world hangs glittering in starry space, Fresh as a jewel found but yesterday. And yet 'tis very old; what tongue may say How old it is? Race follows upon race, Forgetting and forgotten; in their place Sink tower and temple; nothing long may stay. We build on tombs, and live our day, and die; From out our dust new towers and temples start; Our very name becomes a mystery. What cities no man ever heard of lie Under the glacier, in the mountain's heart, In violet glooms beneath the moaning sea!