Classic Poem

Now is he come unto that countryside
Past the last outpost. Here Life loosely reigns,
Asking no tribute from the deadened plains
Where stealthy mists creep from the rising tide.
If there be fellow-travelers in this vast,
Scarcely he knoweth. Voices that he hears
Sound far away and strange unto his ears,
Commingled with the echoes from the past.
He hath outstripped the mirage of his prime
Long since; and journeying on to dip his hand
Into Truth's fountain, he hath come to know
Truth for the chiefest mirage. On the sand
Lappeth the river at the bounds of Time.
His dull ear listens;—must it, then, be so?