A Household Book of English Poetry: Selected and Arranged with Notes
General
A Household Book of English Poetry: Selected and Arranged with Notes
American poetry; English poetry
The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
Sceptre and crown 5
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crookèd scythe and spade.
Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill: 10
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still:
Early or late
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath 15
When they, pale captives, creep to death.
The garlands wither on your brow;
Then boast no more your mighty deeds;
Upon Death’s purple altar now
See where the victor-victim bleeds: 20
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb;
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust.
_James Shirley._
LVIII
_LINES WRITTEN BY ONE IN THE TOWER, BEING YOUNG AND CONDEMNED TO DIE._
My prime of youth is but a frost of cares;
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain;
My crop of corn is but a field of tares;
And all my good is but vain hope of gain:
The day is [fled], and yet I saw no sun; 5
And now I live, and now my life is done!
The spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung;
The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves are green;
My youth is gone, and yet I am but young;
I saw the world, and yet I was not seen: 10
My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun;
And now I live, and now my life is done!
I sought my death, and found it in my womb;
I looked for life, and saw it was a shade;
I trod the earth, and knew it was my tomb; 15
And now I die, and now I am but made:
The glass is full, and now my glass is run;
And now I live, and now my life is done!
_Chidiock Tychborn._
LIX
_LINES WRITTEN THE NIGHT BEFORE HIS EXECUTION._
E’en such is time; which takes on trust
Our youth, our joys, our all we have,
And pays us but with earth and dust;
Which in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wandered all our ways, 5
Shuts up the story of our days:
But from this earth, this grave, this dust,
My God shall raise me up, I trust.
_Sir Walter Raleigh._
LX
_SONNET._
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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