terça-feira, 6 de junho de 2017

Nought's Done, All's Spent

No good is left, when all is said and done;
Too bad, 'tis right, since I'm done with, and sad.
'Tis decreed above I'll be mad and 'lone;
And above decree that all loathe the mad.
Time it is to lay to rest the matter,
And rest some time, far as my tetter may.
So long my hopes! May they fare better;
Hope my longings meet fairer set o'day.
I'll venture to accept the world as such,
And accept to venture in such a world.
Nor rhyme nor reason do I perceive much,
But reason to rhyme yet another word.
Come what may, with no one I'll change chances;
May it come, bear in mind that chance changes.