Cry out on Time that he may take away 
Your cold philosophies that give no hint 
Of spirit-quickened flesh; fall down and pray 
That Death come never with a face of flint: 
Death is our heritage; with Life we share
The sunlight that must own his darkening hour: 
Within his very presence yet we dare 
To gather gladness like a fading flower. 

For even as this, our joy not long may live 
Perfect; and most in change the heart can trace
The miracle of life and human things: 
All we have held to destiny we give; 
Dawn glimmers on the soul-forsaken face; 
Not we, but others, hear the bird that sings.