Classic Poem

The cold, dense darkness of oblivion clings
To distant ages, when bewildering heights
Shone radiant in creation's primal lights,
When earth saw rising from her hidden springs,
Chaotic germs, the shimmer of bright wings,
The gloom of mastodons, the myriad mites
That grew through centuries to nobler flights,
The formless shadows of sublimest things.

The countless worlds that roam celestial space,
Are lonely as they swing their paths along.
Who thinks of this with slow, deliberate breath?

The years that lie so heavy on earth's face,
Are as a second to the years that throng
The limitless life beyond the sleep of death.