  Yes, I have heard it oft: a few brief years True life comprise. The rest is but a dream: What though to thee like life it vainly seem. Fool, trust it not; 'tis not what it appears. We live but once. We die before the shears Of Atropos the thread have clipped. True life Is when with ardent youth's and passion's strife We suffer and we feel. 'Tis when wild tears Can flow and hearts can break, or 'neath the gaze Of loved eyes beat. 'Tis when on eager wing Of Hope we soar, and Past and Future bring Within the Present's grasp. Ay, we live then, But when that cup is quaffed what doth remain? The dregs of days that follow upon days! Julia Kavanagh. |
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