pity me not because the light of day
at close of day no longer walks the sky
pity me not for beauties passed away
from field to thicket as the year goes by
pity me not the warning of the moon,
nor that the ebbing tide goes out to sea.
nor that a mans desire is hushed so soon,
and you no longer look with love on me.
this have i known always: love is no more
than the wide blossom which the wind assails,
than the great tide that treads the shifting shore,
strewing fresh wreckage gathered in the gales,
pity me that the heart is slow to learn
when the swift mind beholds at every turn
