Lo, I am he, who, looming through the mist
Of years and centuries, have seen the world,
Along its narrow circle swiftly hurled
By laws and forces it could not resist;
The mighty storms, whose gales have roared and hissed
Across its face, their black clouds 'round me furled,
While some great sun, with its rare light impearled
The windless spaces where bright stars held tryst.
And I have seen the bloom of countless springs,
The ripened harvests of unnumbered years,
The wreck of continents and the death of lands,
The rounded graves of long-forgotten kings,
A nation's triumph dimmed by bitter tears,—
And held fate's lurid lightning in my hands.