Cry out on Time that he may take away Your cold philosophies that give no hint Of spirit-quickened flesh; fall down and pray That Death come never with a face of flint: Death is our heritage; with Life we share The sunlight that must own his darkening hour: Within his very presence yet we dare To gather gladness like a fading flower. For even as this, our joy not long may live Perfect; and most in change the heart can trace The miracle of life and human things: All we have held to destiny we give; Dawn glimmers on the soul-forsaken face; Not we, but others, hear the bird that sings.