Does it exist, though, Time the destroyer?
When will it scatter the tower on the resting hill?
This heart, the eternal gods’ eternal enjoyer,
when shall the Demiurge ravish and spill?
Are we really such tremblingly breakable
things as Destiny tries to pretend?
Does childhood’s promise, deep, unmistakable,
down in the roots, then, later, end?
Ah, Mutability’s spectre!
out through the simple accepter
you, like a vapour, recede.
We, though we wax but for waning,
fill none the less for remaining
powers a celestial need.
Rainer Maria Rilke
(From Sonnets To Orpheus)