There is no truth but dreams; yet man must spend
His gift of quiet days in storm and stress,
Unheeding that a single breath will end
With one swift stroke the hoax of worldliness.
Only the dream will last. Some distant day
The wheels will falter, and the silent sun
Will see the last beam leveled to decay,
And all man's futile clangor spent and done.
Yet after brick and steel and stone are gone,
And flesh and blood are dust, the dream lives on.