Saturday, October 5, 2013

October 4


NO thing is great on this side of the grave,
   Nor any thing of any stable worth:
  Whatso is born from earth returns to earth:
No thing we grasp proves half the thing we crave:
The tidal wave becomes the ebbing wave:
   Laughter is folly, madness lurks in mirth:
   Mankind sets off a-dying from the birth:
Life is a losing game,--with what to save?
Thus I sat mourning like a mournful owl,
   And like a doleful dragon made ado,
      Companion of all monsters of the dark:
When lo! the light shook off its nightly cowl,
      And up to heaven flashed carolling a lark,
   And all creation sang its hymn anew.

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