The century passes as a broken dream
That fades into the darkness ere the dawn!
The hopes it cherished and its griefs are gone
As spirit-shadows on Time’s silent stream!
The outcry and the anguish of it seem
Like echoes on dusk hills—like lights upon
The haunted borders of oblivion—
Pale will-o’-wisps of a disordered scheme.
O thou New Age that comest! welcome thrice—
More welcome than the ever-welcome birth