mutabilityWe are as clouds that veil the midnight moon;How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver,Streaking the darkness radiantly! Yet soonNight closes round, and they are lost forever: Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant stringsGive various response to each varying blast,To whose frail frame no second motion bringsOne mood or modulation like the last. We rest. A dream has power to poison sleep;We rise. One wandering thought pollutes the day;We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep;Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away: It is the same! For, be it joy or sorrow,The path of its departure still is free:Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;Nought may endure but Mutability. ~Percy Bysshe Shelley

Song of Myself

Buddha's Warning