Another day is past, and while it past, 
 What have I pondered or conceived or read? 
 Nothing! Another day has gone to wast 
 Nothing! Each hour as it is born is dea
 I have done nothin Time from me has fled, 
 And unto Beauty not a statue raised! 
 By thought's firm power no creed nor lie debased 
 By this young useless and wearie
 Is it my lot then ever to remain 
 Like a grain of sand upon the beach, 
 A thing at will of wind, at will of sea?