We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon; <br /> How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver, <br />Streaking the darkness radiantly!--yet soon <br /> Night closes round, and they are lost forever: <br /> <br />Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings <br /> Give various response to each varying blast, <br />To whose frail frame no second motion brings <br /> One mood or modulation like the last. <br /> <br />We rest.--A dream has power to poison sleep; <br /> We rise.--One wandering thought pollutes the day; <br />We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep; <br /> Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away: <br /> <br />It is the same!--For, be it joy or sorrow, <br /> The path of its departure still is free: <br />Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow; <br /> Nought may endure but Mutability.<br /><br />Percy Bysshe Shelley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mutability/
