By George Sterling

I am alone in this grey shadowland,—
    This world of phantoms I can never know,—
    This throng of seekers wandering to and fro,
Moved by a hidden god's unheard command;
And though we knew the clasp of eye and hand,
    We watchers of the planet's passing show,
    Yet soon the "now" shall be the "long ago,"
And soon the prow shall grate on Lethe's strand.

Bring on the lights, the music and the wine,
    Ere the long silence give our feast to scorn!
        Let us forget all that we dread we are,
And let the mind's unknown horizon shine,
    As the heart graces with mirage of morn
        The night about its lost and lonely star.

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