Naking the tree

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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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