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From the earth my body was
called to rise,
Called forth by What, I do
not know,
But called, and filtered
through the grass
That covers the moldering
compost heap
Of things that clothed the
long-forgotten dreams
Of long-forgotten days…
Dreams once bright as
morning, I am sure,
But fallen now, and,
I must admit,
Falling still,
Into the ever-rocking
cradle-grave
Of universal demise.
The fairest maiden soon turns
to dust,
Lasting little longer than
the flowers in her hair
The brightest bird flies but
a little way
Scarcely outliving its song
upon the air
Wooden ships are swallowed by
the waves
And countless warriors, no
matter how strong and brave
Hurry from their cradles to
their graves
In an endless, monotonous
procession.
From the earth their bodies
were called to rise,
Called forth by What, I do
not know,
But called, and filtered
through the grass
That covers the moldering
compost heap
Of things that clothed the
long-forgotten dreams
Of long-forgotten days…
Dreams once bright as
morning, I am sure,
But fallen now, and,
I must admit,
Falling still,
Into the ever-rocking
cradle-grave
Of universal demise.
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