Think me not the famished fisher
Baiting fish so hastily,
Whose famine to a wisher
Fating wish so wastefully,
Who might in plight
Seek such delight
To darken the whole world,
For it’s not of my profession
To make all come so unfurled,
As life’s not your possession
Like some hair in fingers twirled,
Since life is only beautiful
When allowed an end,
Hence am I so dutiful
To beauty here to lend.