At last, the traveler paused before the wain,
Poised for a journey to an uncharted land.
He drew a breath to speak—a sigh of pain—
As if his inner outcries had no end.
Outside, like waves that glitter on the deep,
Or shifting clouds that dance in sudden showers,
The rushing world refuses rest or sleep,
Bound for a kingdom where all mortals flourish—
Yet sowing seeds of ruin as they pass.
They fade like dew upon a morning flower,
Gleaming in light, then swallowed by the dark.
For men are born to bless the waiting earth,
Caught in a current, moving to decline.
This is the rhythm of our earthly race:
A breathless hurrying to the final gate.
And at the end of this brief expedition,
Though mortal deeds and days are long forgot,
The human soul remains, forever timeless.
Yet when that sacred light is snatched away—
Trapped in the Faustian bargain, bought and sold,
Or bound by Mephistopheles’ dark sway—
The fallen soul is torn from grace, and cast
To burn forsaken in the timeless vast.
