[BNP/E3, 78B – 38]

Winter Day

Fragment.

     Death is a horrid thing.

It creeps upon us with a silent wing

And things we knew and loved have {…} their last

A vision that we dreamt is fled and past

And we ourselves, visions all full of pain

     Are doomed our life to stain,

To make like gall with tears our earth’s repast

And mourn for things we cannot have again.

So by these things our spirit doth aspire

To things it deems far distant from the mire

But god that makes our cry dream with pain

Oh be thou there that good shall not ordain.