My Voice

      WITHIN this restless, hurried, modern world

            We took our hearts' 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 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.