Time drops in decay Like a candle burnt out. And the mountains and woods Have their day, have their day; But, kindly old rout Of the fire-born moods, You pass not away.
What will this boaster produce worthy of this mouthing? The mountains are in labor; a ridiculous mouse will be born.
[Lat., Quid dignum tanto feret hic promissor hiatu?
Parturiunt montes; nascetur ridiculus mus.]
When man does not have firm, calm lines on the horizon of his life- mountain and forest lines, as it were- then a man's innermost will becomes agitated, preoccupied, and wistful.