Explore "A Last Word" by Francis Sherman on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
And if it be I shall not sing again, / And thou have wonder at my silent ways, / I pray thee think my days not weary days, / Or that my heart is dumb for some new pain.
Seeing that words are nought, nor may remain, / Why should I strive with Time? Come blame, come praise, / I am but one of them his might betrays / At last, when all men learn that all was vain.
And yet one thing Time cannot wrest from me.
Therefore, cry out, yea, even to the throng / That pauseth not for echo of a song, / "O, your red gold is very fair. But he / Is glad as heaven to loiter and dream along / His Lady Beauty's path continually. "