My Voice

Within the restless, hurried, modern world

    We took our hearts’ full pleasure—You and I,

And now the white sails of our ships 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 crowded 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 shell.