By George Sterling

I muse upon the passing of the days:
    Sunset has fled, and all the gracious land
    Lies in a trance of twilight, as I stand
Before the evening stars uplifted rays.
It floats above the purple ocean-ways
    As pure, as lone as thou. But here the strand
    Bears not thy footprints on its glimmering sand—
The very star is drifiting from my gaze.

Love, all things pass—tell me thu wilt not go!
    For what is life without thee? what am I?
        Ah! Sweet! within the lost Hesperide
To walk with thee where winds of sorrow blow,
    When harps to umreturning sunsets cry
        The loneliness of stars, the grief of seas!


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