Naking the tree


Twelfth Night.  Taking down time.

          Even such is Time, that takes in trust
          Our youth, our joys, our all we have,
          And pays us but with earth and dust;
          Who in the dark and silent grave,  
          When we have wander’d all our ways,
          Shuts up the story of our days;
          But from this earth, this grave, this dust,
          My God shall raise me up, I trust.

A matter of taste whether you prefer Sir Walter’s verse in his first version (minus the final couplet) or the later version.  I found myself reciting them alternately while I was demolishing Christmas, without coming to any conclusion.

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