On this frozen, most clouded day,
From far away, from far away,
Thus much let me now, at least, say;
On this olden, most fleeting day,
I feel no path, no lighted way.
I know there must be more
Beyond night’s hidden shore.
Yet despite days of yore,
I fear, more than before,
There will be less, not more.
And so we stood with fleeting sight,
And a candle that would not light.
On this day, this darkest night,
I felt with sudden, hidden fright,
That this would be life’s final light.
Then I ascended higher,
Within a closing spire,
Past art, and time, and lyre,
And watched that once-bright fire,
Grow old, and weak, and tire.
And when the sun was gone,
And I knew not the dawn,
Life began to yawn,
And from that darkness spawn,
Many lights, newly drawn.
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