So for the luxury of the flesh, wrap it in fur of fox that it be warm,
In the bear's coat sheltering its nakedness from storm.
Give wine for its hot veins, fame for its throne, and laughter for its lips,
All ends in one eclipse,
Sunshine or snows.
We gain a grave, and afterwards—God knows.
Bemoan beside your fire your own particular fate, that evil wind
That blows for you no mercy, think till the wearied mind
Doth ease itself in tears, or reason from her high throne slips,
So ends life in eclipse,
However the wind blows,
We gain a grave, and afterwards—God knows.
'And wherefore is all this?' you question me, 'this weighing of rich and poor,
Of many tears and laughter of which no mind hath cure?'
Nought save 'twere thinking for a winter's night, till my mind trips
O'er thought and finds eclipse
For smiles and woes,
And I a grave, and afterwards—God knows.