And is this life? and are we born for this? To follow phantoms that elude the grasp, Or whatsoe'er secured, within our clasp, To withering lie, as if each earth'y kiss Were doomed Death's shuddering touch alone to meet. O Life! hast thou reserved no cup of bliss? Must still the UNATTAINED beguile our feet? The UNATTAINED with yearnings fill the breast, That rob, for ay, the spirit of its rest? Yes, this is Life; and everywhere we meet, Not victor crowns, but wailings of defeat; Yet faint thou not, thou dost apply a test That shall incite thee onward, upward still, The present can not sate nor e'er thy spirit fill. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LETTER TO JOSEPH WARREN by ROBERT FROST MONADNOCK IN EARLY SPRING by AMY LOWELL THE CHANT OF THE VULTURES by EDWIN MARKHAM SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ALONZO CHURCHILL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS AN EVANGELIST'S WIFE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON NEIGHBORS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |