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.