Summer is gone,
But joys and youth are still about me
And hover in the heavy air like grains of dust.
I bear the stain of life.
The blood has run where experience has pierced me through,
The pristine canvas rent, and torn
The shattered, broken frame.
The cold of winter takes the dying spark
As time itself will claim its own;
And Tennyson’s enchanted lady leaves me
Upon the shores of some Aegean sea;
Waiting, like Time and Tide
For no man, who never comes.
