| And what is Life ? an hour-glass on the
run |
| A mist retreating from the morning sun |
| A busy bustling
still repeated dream |
| Its length ? A moment’s pause, a
moment’s thought |
| And happiness ? A
bubble on the stream |
That in the act of seizing shrinks to
nought
|
| Vain hopes—what are they ? Puffing
gales of morn |
| That of its charms divests the dewy
lawn |
| And robs each
flowret of its gem and dies |
| A cobweb hiding disappointments thorn |
Which stings more
keenly thro’ the thin disguise
|
| And thou, O trouble ? Nothing can
suppose, |
| And sure the Power of Wisdom only
knows, |
| What need requireth
thee. |
| So free and lib’ral as thy bounty
flows, |
Some necessary cause
must surely be.
|
| And what is death ? Is still the cause
unfound |
| The dark mysterious name of horrid
sound |
| A long and ling’ring
sleep the weary crave— |
| And peace—where can its happiness
abound ? |
No where at all but
Heaven and the grave
|
| Then what is Life ? When stript of its
disguise |
| A thing to be
desir’d it cannot be |
| Since every thing that meets our
foolish eyes |
| Gives proof
sufficient of its vanity |
| ’Tis but a trial all must undergo |
| To teach unthankful
mortals how to prize |
| That happiness vain man’s denied to
know |
Untill he’s call’d
to claim it in the skies.
|
| John Clare
| Classic Poems |
| |
|
[ I Am ] [ Summer Moods ] [ What is Life? ] |
