I flaked a flint to a cutting edge And shaped it with brutish craft; I broke a shank from the woodland lank And fitted it, head and haft. - Langdon Smith

And that was a million years ago In a time that no man knows;
Yet here tonight in the mellow light We sit at Delmonico's.
Your eyes are deep as the Devon springs, Your hair is dark as jet,
Your years are few, your life is new, Your soul untried, and yet —

Croaking and blind, with our three-clawed feet
Writing a language dumb, With never a spark in the empty dark
To hint at a life to come.

Our love is old, our lives are old, And death shall come amain;
Should it come today, what man may say We shall not live again?