It will not hurt me when I am old,
A running tide where moonlight burned
Will not sting me like silver snakes;
The years will make me sad and cold,
It is the happy heart that breaks.
The heart asks more than life can give,
When that is learned, then all is learned;
The waves break fold on jeweled fold,
But beauty itself is fugitive,
It will not hurt me when I am old.
Read by Anne Losq
St. Matthew Passion, BWV 244: Erbarme Dich, Johann Sebastian Bach
The Evening of the Deluge, Joseph Mallord William Turner
Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington