John H. Gavin

I AM immortal as a burst of song,

That quivers from the thrush’s throat

And sinks to silence.

I am immortal as the kiss of love,

That wakes the world to melody,

And leaves a memory.

I am immortal as the laughing hour,

That throws her leaven on the sodden heart—

And trips away.

I am immortal as the purple dusk,

That drugs the weary brain to dreams,

And fades.

I am immortal as the wind of March,

That woos the barren earth to life—

And passes.

I am immortal as the stubborn hills,

That breast the storms of centuries,

And wear to sand.

I am immortal as the living sun,

That flames a moment in eternity,

And sputters out.