Should all have pass'd, the ancient night,
Fall'n to the day without morning's rise,
The sorrow'd man with tears now gone,
Is pass'd away, the repeated sighs
No more lay upon the lips, the song
Of frail once not, sadness no lot,
The robed owl's piercing sight
Is blind, is blind. Wrong
Is cried, what so since long denied
Passes with the ancient night.

Lies and Truth, partners they,
Martyrs since the passing day,
The greater cause, for those to take
The mantle from the age'd plague,
Worn to clothe, to warm or hide away.
Disguise the Right, the Self forsake
For greater cause, stirs up the flame
And leaves the smell of burn'd flesh
A memory tied to an ancient stake
Burning in the winter's night.

So passes seasons, worlds, and time,
Each apart, a part, a whole,
So intertwined, like creeping vines,
Rooted to a common ground,
There walked upon, shores to shores,
Once listened to the Oceans' sound,
So intoned, the night will come, where
The day is no more, no more. So,
A Beggar become, denying Both;
For what a sorrow'd Man hopes,

...Has not passed away.