What if a day, or a month, or a year Crown thy delights with a thousand sweet contentings? Cannot a chance of a night or an hour Cross thy desires with as many sad tormentings? Fortune, Honour, Beauty, Youth Are but blossoms dying; Wanton Pleasure, doting Love, Are but shadows flying. All our joys are but toys, Idle thoughts deceiving; None hath power of an hour In our lives' bereaving. Earth's but a point to the world, and a man Is but a point to the world's compared centre: Shall then the point of a point be so vain As to triumph in a silly point's adventure? All is hazard that we have, There is nothing biding; Days of pleasure are like streams Through fair meadows gliding. Weal and woe, time doth go, Time is never turning: Secret fates guide our states, Both in mirth and mourning. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PARTING by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE BELLS FOR JOHN WHITESIDE'S DAUGHTER by JOHN CROWE RANSOM THE VAGABONDS by JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 86. AL-JAMI'H by EDWIN ARNOLD A VERMONT COUNTRY STORE by DANIEL LEAVENS CADY A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 41 by THOMAS CAMPION |