Change lays not her hand upon truth.
In the world of dreams, I have chosen my part.
Life is the lust of a lamp for the light that is dark till the dawn of the day that we die.
For the crown of our life as it closes Is darkness, the fruit thereof dust; No thorns go as deep as a rose's, And love is more cruel than lust. Time turns the old days to derision, Our loves into corpses or wives; And marriage and death and division Make barren our lives.
Though one were fair as roses His beauty clouds and closes.
A baby's feet, like sea-shells pink Might tempt, should heaven see meet, An angel's lips to kiss, we think, A baby's feet.