  How slow you move, old Time; Walk a bit faster! Old fool, I’m not your slave.... Beauty’s my master! You hold me for a space.... What are you, Time? A ghost, a thing of thought, An easy rhyme. Some day I shall again, For all your scheming, See Severn valley clouds Like banners streaming. And walk in Cranham lanes, By Maisemore go.... But, fool, decrepit Fool, You are SO SLOW!!! |
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