The world's great age begins anew,

The golden years return,

The earth doth like a snake renew

Her winter weeds outworn:

Heaven smiles, and faiths and empires gleam,
Like wrecks of a dissolving dream.

A brighter Hellas rears its mountains
From waves serener far;

A new Peneus rolls his fountains

Against the morning-star.

Where fairer Tempes bloom, there sleep
Young Cyclads on a sunnier deep.

A loftier Argo cleaves the main,
Fraught with a later prize;
Another Orpheus sings again,

And loves, and weeps, and dies.
A new Ulysses leaves once more
Calypso for his native shore.

O, write no more the tale of Troy,
If earth Death's scroll must be!
Nor mix with Laian rage the joy

Which dawns upon the free:

ΙΟ

Cease! drain not to its dregs the urn
Of bitter prophecy.

The world is weary of the past,
O might it die or rest at last!

TO NIGHT

Swiftly walk o'er the western wave,
Spirit of Night!

Out of the misty eastern cave,
Where all the long and lone daylight
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,
Which make thee terrible and dear, -
Swift be thy flight!

Wrap thy form in a mantle grey,
Star in-wrought!

Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day;
Kiss her until she be wearied out;

Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand
Come, long sought!

When I arose and saw the dawn,

I sighed for thee;

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ΤΟ

15

When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turned to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,

I sighed for thee.

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Wouldst thou me? - And I replied, No, not thee!

Although a subtler Sphinx renew

Death will come when thou art dead,