We live not in our moments or our years:The present we fling from us like the rindOf some sweet future, which we after findBitter to taste.
Ha! see where the wild-blazing Grog-shop appears,As the red waves of wretchedness swell;How it burns on the edge of tempestuous years—The horrible Light-house of Hell!mcdonald clarke
Cold on Canadian hills or Minden’s plain,Perhaps that parent mourned her soldier slain;Bent o'er her babe, her eye dissolved in dew,The big drops mingling with the milk he drewGave the sad presage of his future years,—The child of misery, baptized in tears.
"Vanitas vanitatum" has rung in the earsOf gentle and simple for thousands of years;The wail still is heard, yet its notes never scareEither simple or gentle from Vanity Fair.frederick locker-lampson
Oft, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light Of other days around me; The smiles, the tears, Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone, Now dimm'd and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken!thomas moore
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