Maxioms by Alexander Smith
The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.
The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.
Sweet April's tears,
Dead on the hem of May.
Sweet April's tears,
Dead on the hem of May.
The sea complains upon a thousand shores.
The sea complains upon a thousand shores.
We bury love,
Forgetfulness grows over it like grass;
That is a thing to weep for, not read more
We bury love,
Forgetfulness grows over it like grass;
That is a thing to weep for, not the dead.
To be occasionally quoted is the only fame I care for.
To be occasionally quoted is the only fame I care for.
