I know always the weariness of dreams,


    The great and grievous vanity of joy and hope;


    Frail wishes that pass,


    where lassitude and torpor remain,


    Feverish fervour


    and desperate, brief delights;


    A dream of somewhat fallen fortune,


    beneath a silver moon standing watch


    over our wishes and hopes, as we stand


    beneath the drifting petals


    that tremble, flame and fall


    in the sunset,


    the slowly wasting trees,


    the dawns and the stars that wane


    on the tides of the seasons.


    And here, beneath this savage light,


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    The stellar-manifested truth sublime,


    We must gaze with sight immutable


    to understand and wield


    the brutal radiance of creation


    and wield the powers


    of life and death.


    Only for these who dance in our light


    are the memories


    Of sorcerous moons and


    hopeful suns that were;


    And we have found,


    where fallen leaves now stir,


    the dreams of those


    who withered and died


    beneath the bale-white


    gleam,


    the relentless march of our


    blessed infinities.