Within this restless, hurried, modern world
We took our heart's full pleasure - You and I,
And now the white sails of our ship are furled,
And spent the lading of our argosy.
Wherefore my cheeks before their time are wan,
For very weeping is my gladness fled,
Sorrow hath paled my lip's vermilion,
And ruin draws the curtains of my bed.
But all this crowed life has been to thee
No more than lyre, or lute, or subtle spell
Of viols, or the music of the sea
That sleeps, a mimic echo, in the schell.
Author: Oscar Wilde
xx
No comments:
Post a Comment