A music to the ear on clamoring street,
A cooling well amid the noonday heat,
A scent of green boughs blown through narrow walls,
A feel of rest when quiet evening falls.
The New Century
While cities rose and blossomed into dust,
While shadowy lines of kings were blown to air,
What was the Purpose brooding on the world,
Through the large leisure of the centuries?
And what the end—failure or victory?