Explore "Against Clock and Compasses" by Robert Graves on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"_Beauty dwindles into shadow, / Beauty dies, preferred by Fate, / Past the rescue of bold thought. / Sentries drowsed_," they say, "_at Beauty's gate_."
"_Time duteous to his hour-glass, / Time with unerring sickle, / Garners to a land remote / Where your vows of true love are proved fickle._"
"_Love chill upon her forehead, / Love fading from her cheek, / Love dulled in either eye, / With voice of love_," they say, "_no more to speak_."
I deny to Time his terror; / Come-and-go prevails not here; / Spring is constant, loveless winter / Looms, but elsewhere, for he comes not near.
I deny to Space the sorrow; / No leagues measure love from me; / Turning boldly from her arms, / Into her arms I shall come certainly.
Time and Space, folly's wonder, / Three-card shufflers, magic-men! / True love is, that none shall say / It ever was, or ever flowers again.