Immortal things and gods are never dead,
but never yet improve themselves or change;
the seasons pass, the sun goes overhead,
and ever yet the gods remain the same.
But look at us, we humans, caught between
the mortar and the pestle as we must—
transforming, true, from coarse to finer things,
but in the process grinding down to dust.
But what’s immortal, after all, these days?
No, nothing lasts forever anymore.
The gods of yesterday have died away,
time’s ebb has left us on a barren shore,
and we decide, now that the gods are gone,
if we are grinding down, or grinding on.