the last

"The Nymph's reply to the Shepherd"
by Sir Walter Releigh

If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.


Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complain of cares to come.


The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields;
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.


Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy bed of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.


Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy love.


But could youth last and love still breed,
Had joys no date nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.




The truth is I need a bit of time to recuperate. So to anyone reading that knows me, sorry but I'm just going to need my own time and space for a little while. With that being said, consider this my last post until I have something of value to write about. I've merely assumed that grey monotone again, I'm tired of my one dimensional writing lately. 


P.S It was actually a bad idea for me to use letters in place of certain people's names. I realized that I had recycled the alias "H" and used it to talk about two entirely different individuals.