What Is Our Life
Sir Walter Raleigh
What is our life? The play of passion. Our mirth? The music of division: Our mothers’ wombs the tiring-houses be, Where we are dressed for life’s short comedy. The earth the stage; Heaven the spectator is, Who sits and views whosoe’er doth act amiss. The graves which hide us from the scorching sun Are like drawn curtains when the play is done. Thus playing post we to our latest rest, And then we die in earnest, not in jest.
Next 10 Poems
- Lizette Woodworth Reese : A Flower Of Mullein
- Lizette Woodworth Reese : A Haunting Memory
- Lizette Woodworth Reese : A Holiday
- Lizette Woodworth Reese : A Little Song Of Life
- Lizette Woodworth Reese : A Rhyme Of Death's Inn
- Lizette Woodworth Reese : A Song For Candlemas
- Lizette Woodworth Reese : After
- Lizette Woodworth Reese : Anne
- Lizette Woodworth Reese : Daffodils
- Lizette Woodworth Reese : Herbs
Previous 10 Poems
- Sir Walter Raleigh : To His Love When He Had Obtained Her
- Sir Walter Raleigh : To A Lady With An Unruly And Ill-mannered Dog Who Bit Several Persons Of Importance
- Sir Walter Raleigh : The Silent Lover Ii
- Sir Walter Raleigh : The Silent Lover I
- Sir Walter Raleigh : The Passionate Man's Pilgrimage
- Sir Walter Raleigh : The Nymph's Reply To The Shepherd
- Sir Walter Raleigh : The Lie
- Sir Walter Raleigh : The Conclusion
- Sir Walter Raleigh : The Artist
- Sir Walter Raleigh : Stans Puer Ad Mensam