[BNP/E3, 78 – 101]

F.

Was...

The wave hath burst white upon the beach.

     Speak no more of it.

The leaf hath rotted. No more can it teach

     But a moral for joy unfit.

The day hath ended. Who speaks of its morn

     But must think of its night?

The |old| corpse is rotting. That it was once born

     Seems a lie to the sight. (✓)

The heart hath broken; no more can it throb

     With deep love or care.

Its voice hath vanished; no more can it sob

     In its deep despair.

Thus all things do crumble and all doth pass,

     But not always forgot;

For we feel it deep, and in the heart “was”

     Meaneth but “is nob”.

Alexander Search.

December 27^th. 1907.