MUTABILITY

We are the clouds that veil the midnight moon;
     How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver,
Streaking the darkness radiantly!--yet soon
     Night closes round, and they are lost forever:

Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings
     Give various response to each varying blast,
To whose frail frame no second motion brings
     One mood or modulation like the last.

We rest.--A dream has power to poison sleep;
     We rise.--One wandering thought pollutes the day;
We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep;
     Embrace fond foe, or cast our cares away:

It is the same!--For, be it joy or sorrow,
     The path of its departure still is free:
Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;
     Nought may endure but Mutability.