Classic Poem

And whither, O ye Vapours! do ye wend?
Stirred by that weary breathing, whither away?
And whiter, O ye Dreams! that night and day
Drift o'er the troublous life, tremble, and blend
To broken lineaments of that far Friend,
Whose strange breath's come and go ye must obey?
O sleepless Soul! in the world's waste astray,
Whither? and will thy wanderings ever end?
All things that be are full of a quick pain;
Onward we fleet, swift as the running rill, —
The vapours drift, the mists within the brain
Float on obscuringly and have no will.
Only the bare Peaks and the Stones remain;
These only, — and a God sublimely still.