The Evanescent

By George Sterling

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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