[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 27th. 1907.
