A GOOD that never satisfies the mind, A beauty fading like the April flowers, A sweet with floods of gall that runs combined, A pleasure passing ere in thought made ours, An honor that more fickle is than wind, A glory at opinion's frown that lowers, A treasury which bankrupt time devours, A knowledge than grave ignorance more blind, A vain delight our equals to command, A style of greatness, in effect a dream, A swelling thought of holding sea and land, A servile lot, decked with a pompous name,— Are the strange ends we toil for here below, Till wisest death make us our errors know. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE VIKING GRAVE AT LADBY by KAREN SWENSON THE CUPBOARD by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE PERPLEXITY by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA I LIFT MY CANDLE by ELLEN ANDERSON STANZAS TO WILLIAM ROSCOE, ESQ. by BERNARD BARTON THE CAMPUS IN VACATION by ANNE MILLAY BREMER |