I sit upon the white rocks by the bay,
Against whose hollows numberless, the waves
Will splash forevermore. The sunset laves
The deep with light. There rise far away
A mountain that has seemingly defied
The very clouds unchanged. And near, portending
That all created things will have an ending,
These crumbled crags lie by the ocean side!
O time! what element escapes your slow
And causeless move? These rough, resisting rocks,
Which the wind startled wave incessant mocks,
Are not to it unyielding even now.
The day is done, for once it had a beaming,
And so must all, whatever may be seeming.
From Manila: A Collection of Verse (Imp. Paredes, Inc., 1926) by Luis Dato. This poem is in the public domain.