Classic Poem

There is no night here.
There is no morn.
No Man has ever died,
For none was born.

Life start from naught,
To habitate in Man?
Life the eternal
Bounded by a span?

We dream it died.
We dream this being
Has passed away with time
Beyond our seeing.

Asleep in matter
Measured out in years,
We dread a darkness
Fashioned from our fears;

Lest Death should come
And put an end to death,
And all our foolish dreams
Fade in a breath.

“In the beginning
But there is no ending,
No upward soaring,
No dark descending.

The life of clay
We build from day to day;
It falls in dust;
The dust is blown away;

And with it blows
The dream within a dream—
Ambition, failure, death—
The mortal gleam.

But we awake,
The sunlight on our face,
And Godlike take
Imperishable place!