Sonnet 22

Sonnet 22

There were the days of bitter silent thought
The moon summoned up sadness in the past
The white wave sighed the far heart that I sought
And being also yellow by time’s waste

Then I poured a pain that forget to flow
For precious love not the treasure of night
And weep a boundless long miss moldy woe
The rock moaned about you a vanished sight

Then died in poetry, being foregone
The rock - me no one wants to tell over
The miserable moss of future moan
That I have never not lived well before

If the rain changed from love into the friend
Would be a sadness for the graceless end.