AUGUST 437 



Back into the Infinite tend 



The creations that out of it start : 



Unto every beginning an end, 



And whatever arrives shall depart. 



But I and my songs, for a while, 

 As together away on the wing 



We are borne with a sigh or a smile, 

 Have been given this message to sing- 



The Now is an atom of sand, 



And the Near is a perishing clod : 



But Afar is as Faery Land, 



And Beyond is the bosom of God. 



