25 The Confluence
Tears of Ages come in a stream,
Sighs flow in from Life’s hoary height,
Souls of Sorrow bring their gleam
Of a light that is but a moan, not a sight.
The gray waves of the Sea of Death
Congeal under the cold Sun of Suffering,
While Time, playing the flute of Fate,
Charms them, snake-like, and doth bring.
Out of a Cave, beyond Lights and Shades
Present’s storm,—made stormier by Future’s promises,—
To mingle in the Ocean of Death
Like Sleep, yielding to Dream’s caresses.