In The Park

This dense hard ground I tread.         These iron bars that ripple past,         Will they unshaken stand when I am dead         And my deep thoughts outlast?         Is it my spirit slips,         Falls, like this leaf I kick aside;         This firmness that I feel about my lips,         Is it but empty pride?         Mute knowledge conquers me;         I contemplate them as they are,         Faint earth and shadowy bars that shake and flee,         Less hard, more transient far         Than those unbodied hues         The sunset flings on the calm river;         And, as I look, a swiftness thrills my shoes         And my hands with empire quiver.         Now light the ground I tread,         I walk not now but rather float;         Clear but unreal is the scene outspread,         Pitiful, thin, remote.         Poor vapour is the grass,         So frail the trees and railings seem,         That, did I sweep my hand around, 'twould pass         Through them, as in a dream.         Godlike I fear no changes;         Shatter the world with thunders loud,         Still would I ray-like flit about the ranges         Of dark and ruddy cloud.