Wordsworth.
Between two breaths, what crowded mysteries lie,—
The first short gasp, the last and long drawn sigh!
Like phantoms painted on the magic slide,
Forth from the darkness of the past we glide,
As living shadows for a moment seen
In airy pageant on the eternal screen,
Traced by a ray from one unchanging flame,
Then seek the dust and stillness, whence we came.
O. W. Holmes.