My life is measured by this glasse, this glasse By all those little Sands that through passe And see how they press, see how they strive, which shall With greatest speed and greatest quickness fall And see how they raise a little Mount, and then With their own weight do level it again But when they have all got thorough, they give over Their nimble sliding downe, and move no more Just such is man whose houres still forward run Being almost finished ere they are begun; So perfect nothings, such light blasts are we That ere we are, ought at all, we cease to be Do what we will, our hasty minutes fly And while we sleep, what do we else but die? How transient are our Joys, and how short their day! They creep on towards us, but fly away How stinging are our sorrows! Where they gain But the least footing, there they will remain And how groundless are our hopes, how they deceive Our childish thoughts, and only sorrow leave! and how real are our fears! They blast us still Still rend us, still with gnawing passions fill; How senseless are our wishes, yet how great! With what toil we pursue them, and with what sweat! Yet most times for our hurts, so small we seem Like Children crying for some Mercury And this gapes for Marriage, yet his fickle head Knows not what cares wait on the Marriage bed And this vowes Virginity, yet knows not what Loneness, grief, and discontent attends that state Desires of wealth anothers wishes hold And yet how many have been choked with Gold? This only hunts for honour, yet who shall Ascend the higher, shall more wretched fall? This thirsts for knowledge, yet how is it bought? With many a sleepless night and racking thought This needs will travel, yet how dangers lay Most secret Ambuscados in the way These triumph in their Beauty, though it shall Like a pluckt Rose or fading Lilly fall Another boasts strong armes, alas Giants have By silly Dwarfes been dragged unto their grave These ruffle in rich silk, though nere so gay A well plumed Peacock is more gay than they Poore man, what Art! A Tennis ball of Errour! A ship of Glasse, tossd in a Sea of terrour! Issuing in blood and sorrow from the womb Crawling in tears and mourning to the tomb! How slippery are thy paths, and how sure thy fall How art thou Nothing when thou art most of all?!? (Hourglass for Diana/Earth Covers Earth [1988] _ Current 93)
Posted on: Sun, 13 Jul 2014 13:59:33 +0000
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