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WHEN will the stream be aweary of flowing
                    Under my eye?
When will the wind be aweary of blowing
                    Over the sky?
When will the clouds be aweary of fleeting?
When will the heart be aweary of beating?
                    And nature die?
Never, oh! never, nothing will die;
                    The stream flows,
                    The wind blows,
                    The cloud fleets,
                    The heart beats,
                         Nothing will die.

            Nothing will die;
            All things will change
            Thro’ eternity.
            ’Tis the world’s winter;
            Autumn and summer
            Are gone long ago;
            Earth is dry to the centre,
            But spring, a new comer,
            A spring rich and strange,
            Shall make the winds blow
            Round and round,
            Thro’ and thro’,
                        Here and there,
                        Till the air
            And the ground
            Shall be fill’d with life anew.

            The world was never made;
            It will change, but it will not fade.
            So let the wind range;
            For even and morn
                        Ever will be
                        Thro’ eternity.
            Nothing was born;
            Nothing will die;
            All things will change.

(Lord Alfred Tennyson)