Posted with permission of the transcriber, 'Ann'. Geo. The Whitehaven News, August 7, 1913 ______ TIME'S TRAGEDY. I know you can never be mine, I know I am nothing to you. And yet there's the madness of wine, In the glance of your dear eyes of blue; For yours is the rapture of the morning, But mine is the laughter of noon; If I sued I should meet but with scorning, As the glow-worm who sighed for the moon. Years ago a thorn pierced your white hand, - You remember - the rose was in flower; I, a slave to your every command, Was assisting to deck your fair bower. The touch of your delicate fingers, As I drew out the envious dart, Even yet in my memory lingers - For the thorn entered deep in my heart. F.G.G. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~