The feathers in a fan Are not so frail as man; The green embossed leaf Than man is no more brief. His life is not so loud As the passing of a cloud; His death is quieter Than harebells, when they stir. The years that have no form And substance are as warm, And space has hardly less Supreme an emptiness, And yet man being frail Does on himself prevail, And with a single thought Can bring the world to naught. As being brief he still Bends to his fleeting will All time, and makes of it The shadow of his wit. Soundless in life and death Although he vanisheth, The echo of a song Makes all the stars a gong. Cold, void, and yet the grim Darkness is hot with him, And space is but the span Of the long love of man.
- by Humbert Wolfe (1885 - 1940) [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
Researcher for this text: Mike Pearson
Text added to the website: 2015-07-28 00:00:00
Last modified: 2015-07-28 15:33:45
Line count: 28
Word count: 144