AS a ripple on the water,
As the wind across the grass,
As the shadows of a vapour,
As the breath upon a glass,

As starlight in the morning,
As cloudlets in the day,
Or visions in the sunset,
We are--and pass away.

We waken throbbing music,
But cannot bid it linger;
It fades away like fairy harp
When touched by fairy finger.

And the very words we utter
Sink to silence one by one,
Not the same, although repeated,
And never more undone.

Link by link the generations
Live, and love, and smile, and weep,
They awaken from oblivion,
And vanish--into sleep.

What they build, how swiftly crumbled!
What they swear, forsworn how soon!
And the children of the morning
Are the grown men of the noon.

But the grown men of the noon,
Where at evening will they be?--
To-morrow they will only claim
A grave;--and a memory?