Grains Of Sand
Fine gleanings of the ledges, golden grains
That ponderous glaciers reaped long, long ago
From battlemented crags and furrowed plains
Grinding and crushing with resistless flow,
To mingle with the melting seas, and heap
Their flinty harvestings in windrows; strew
The granite kernels for the thunderous deep
To winnow endlessly and grind anew.
Where are those lordly peaks that once defied
The fury of the gales, nor deigned to bow
To heaven’s own lightning? How the scornful tide
Washes about and putters with them now;
Yes, even my weak fingers have the power
To fashion as I will or idly thrust
Into a glass to mark the fleeting hour,
These grains of sand - some crumbled mountain’s dust