The whirl of flux ever rings its nautching notes 
Of the transient real of the eternal 
Forms that die like the cloud that above floats 
And melt to showers in cycle eternal.
Elements gross of this pulsing Universe
Perish to spring to constant shapes anew.
And none can this truth's trend of law reverse.
And no powers of this earth can ever rescue 
Her from this pattern of recurrent puzzle 
To solve which we must fix our gaze within 
And turn away ftom surface self's bustle 
There a changeless depth of hush sans all din 
Shall flash the clue to the fatal flaw of this
Our causal sheath of flesh in fitful bliss.