Once I wrote her name upon the sand
|
but came a wave a washed it away
|
Again I wrote in with a second hand
|
but came a tide, made my plans prey
|
|
Who so list to think? I know where is a sign
|
I am of them that furthest come behind
|
|
Yet may I, by no means, my weared mind
|
draw from my thought, but as they flee
|
ashore, fainting I follow, I leave off
|
therefore, since in net I seek to hold
|
the wind
|
|
The sweet season, that bud and bloom
|
forth brings
|
The summer has come, for every spray
|
now springs
|
With green had clad the hill and ehe
|
the vale
|
The nightingale with feathers new
|
she sings
|
|
"Vain man" she said "that dost in vain
|
assay, a mortal name so to immortalise,
|
for I myself shell like to this desay
|
and ehe my name be wiped out likewise"
|
|
-----------------
|
Like To A Silver Bow
|
Darkseed |