Four days quickly steeped themselves in night; like to a silver bow Four nights quickly dreamed away the time; yonder rises the moon, half unveiled, recoiling from the face of heaven. A ghostly galleon beneath stars, thus, behold this night of somber solemnities.
How oft hereafter will she wax and wane; How oft hereafter will things stay the same? Nature tis cruel to be kind, Cruel to grant bindings of eternity bounded in shallows and in miseries condemned forever in a living death.
Like the phrase of the moon, the tidings of life changes, But unlike the phrase of the moon, it never comes back the same.