My Voice

My Voice

　　Within this restless， hurried， modern world

　　We took our hearts' full pleasure - You and I，

　　And now the white sails of our ship are furled，

　　And spent the lading of our argosy.

　　Wherefore my cheeks before their time are wan¹，

　　For very weeping is my gladness fled，

　　Sorrow has paled my young mouth's vermilion，

　　And Ruin draws the curtains of my bed.

　　But all this crowded life has been to thee

　　No more than lyre， or lute²， or subtle spell

　　Of viols， or the music of the sea

　　That sleeps， a mimic³ echo， in the shell.