Page:Astrophel and other poems (IA astrophelotherpo00swiniala).pdf/160

 Even as life with death, and fame with time, and memory with the tomb Where a dead man hath for vassals Fame the serf and Time the slave.

Far from earth as heaven, the steadfast light withdrawn, superb, suspense, Burns in dumb divine expansion of illimitable flower: Moonrise whets the shadow's edges keen as noontide: hence and thence Glows the presence from us passing, shines and passes not the power. Souls arise whose word remembered is as spirit within the sense: All the hours are theirs of all the seasons: death has but his hour.