To the moon...

Time goes by, time comes along, all is old and all is new; what is right and what is wrong? You must think and ask of you; have no hope and have no fear, waves that rise can never hold. If they urge or if they cheer, you remain aloof and cold. To our sight a lot will glisten, many sounds will reach our ear; who could take the time to listen, and remember all we hear? Keep aside from all that patter, seek yourself, far from the throng, when with loud and idle clatter, time goes by, time comes along. Nor forget the tongue of reason, or its even scales depress when the moment, changing season, wears the mask of happiness. It is born of reason's slumber, and may last a wink as true: for the one who knows its number, all is old and all is new.