When I consider what a time has flown,
Shaping this planet to the thing we see,
And what unnumbered ages yet shall be
Graved in the annaled strata of the stone;
When I consider what a point I own
Within the ocean of eternity,
And how its billows, overwhelming me,
Shall hide me wholly, and remain alone;
I ask what folly has beguiled the mind,
That looks on nature with the dream of fame
Which shall outlive one shudder of her frame?
What refuge, think you, will our memories find
In cyclic changes, wrought through flood and flame,
Before the fragments shall be recombined?