Ever we drift, drift,
Swept by a wind we resist not,
Whirling and turning swift;
Onward we drift, drift,
Blown through the cloud and the rift,
Whither we know not and list not.

Hark to the curses that tear
Their way through the rush of the air!
Love that was uncontrolled,
Killed by the ceaseless cold,
Holds like a weight in its arms the price of the heaven it sold,
Daring its voice to lift,
Cursing the fatal gift,
Winding in closer folds as onward we circle swift.

Ages and ages past,
Passion-enthralled at last,
Lovers were drawn and held and borne by this bitter blast;
Yet and for ages unnumbered the strong
Pitiless current shall bear them along,
Driving with senseless force
All that resist or resist not,
Holding its changeless course
Whither they know not and list not.

Aching or sting of pain,
These we have begged in vain,
Only to dull the thoughts keen-edged that cut the brain.
Fools to beg of a mindless wind!
Fools to hope that a sin once sinned
May ever be cast behind, —
Forgot in our endless race, —
When at every turn we see it lined
In the look of a pallid face,
As we whirl and cling and eddy and drift,
Through cloud and rift,
Swift, more swift —
Whither to know it avails not:
Blown by a tempest that fails not,
Ever we drift, drift.