The Wingless Archangels

Beyond the bourn of dreams, their fortunate sphere, Golden and large in some rich galaxy, Rolls upon ways prolonged of harmony; And they, with wingless toil of many a year, Unto the calm of heavens have clomb anear– Wise with the secrets of eternity, And forcing truce with time…. They deem them free From change, and from the old, unchanging fear.

But on their immortality is blight– Whose dream betraying deserts have undone: They turn, where winds make chill the ashen light, Blown as from space and bleak oblivion; And mark the dim, portentous breath of Night, A mist penumbral on the noontide sun.