OUR life is full of sighing, Our life, which is so brief; We cloud the moments flying, With trouble, pain, and grief. Still looking to the morrow, We disregard to-day, And ever trouble borrow, As life speeds fast away. And yet, nor grief, nor sadness, Composes all our lot,— Woe mingles still with gladness, Though oft we see it not. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 22 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE MASK by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING A FOREST HYMN by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT ON THE DEATH OF MRS. (NOW LADY) THROCKMORTON'S BULLFINCH by WILLIAM COWPER ADDRESS TO SUBSCRIBERS .. FUND FOR CLOTHING CHILDREN CHARITY SCHOOL by BERNARD BARTON |