I know always the weariness of dreams,

  The great and grievous vanity of joy and hope;

  Frail wishes that pass,

  where lassitude and torpor remain,

  Feverish fervour

  and desperate, brief delights;

  A dream of somewhat fallen fortune,

  beneath a silver moon standing watch

  over our wishes and hopes, as we stand

  beneath the drifting petals

  that tremble, flame and fall

  in the sunset,

  the slowly wasting trees,

  the dawns and the stars that wane

  on the tides of the seasons.

  And here, beneath this savage light,

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  The stellar-manifested truth sublime,

  We must gaze with sight immutable

  to understand and wield

  the brutal radiance of creation

  and wield the powers

  of life and death.

  Only for these who dance in our light

  are the memories

  Of sorcerous moons and

  hopeful suns that were;

  And we have found,

  where fallen leaves now stir,

  the dreams of those

  who withered and died

  beneath the bale-white

  gleam,

  the relentless march of our

  blessed infinities.