But Whither?

AND whither, O ye Vapours! do ye wend?
Stirred by that weary breathing, whither away?
And whither, O ye Dreams! that night and day
Drift o'er the troublous life, tremble, and blend
To broken lineaments of that far Friend,
Whose strange breath's come and go ye must obey?
O sleepless Soul! in the world's waste astray,
Whither? and will thy wanderings ever end?
All things that be are full of a quick pain;
Onward we fleet, swift as the running rill,—
The vapours drift, the mists within the brain
Float on obscuringly and have no will.
Only the bare Peaks and the Stones remain;
These only, — and a God sublimely still.