We are the clouds that veil the midnight moon；

    How restlessly they speed， and gleam， and quiver，

    Streaking¹ the darkness radiantly！——yet soon

    Night closes round， and they are lost forever：

    Or like forgotten lyres， whose dissonant² strings³

    Give various response to each varying blast，

    To whose frail⁴ frame no second motion brings

    One mood or modulation⁵ 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 foe⁶， 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；

    Nought⁷ may endure but Mutability.

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