Page:Astrophel and other poems (IA astrophelotherpo00swiniala).pdf/51

 Men and years are as leaves or tears that storm or sorrow is fain to shed: These go by as the winds that sigh, and none takes note of them quick or dead: Time, whose breath is their birth and death, folds here his pinions, and bows his head.

Still the sun that beheld begun the work wrought here of unwearied hands Sees, as then, though the Red King's men held ruthless rule over lawless lands, Stand their massive design, impassive, pure and proud as a virgin stands.

Statelier still as the years fulfil their count, subserving her sacred state, Grows the hoary grey church whose story silence utters and age makes great: Statelier seems it than shines in dreams the face unveiled of unvanquished fate.