| | Never seek to tell the love,
Love that never told can be;
For the gentle wind doth move
Silently, invisibly.
I told my love, I told my love,
I told her all my heart,
Trembling, cold in ghastly fears,
Ah! she did depart!
Soon after she was gone from me,
A travelier came by,
Silently, invisibly;
He took her with a sigh.
Love's Secret --William Blake
love itself, perhaps, does not have content,
it has a mythical frame at the beginning.
once started,
it is heading to the withered end.
its birth is meant to die, a self-murder.
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| | Posted 7/7/2009 2:20 PM - 3 Views - 0 eProps - 0 comments
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