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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419415" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Death</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Why should man's high aspiring mind<br>Burn in him with so proud a breath,<br>When all his haughty views can find<br>In this world yields to death?<br>The fair, the brave, the vain, the wise,<br>The rich, the poor, the great, and small,<br>Are each but worm's anatomies<br>To strew his quiet hall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Power may make many earthly gods,<br>Where gold and bribery's guilt prevails,<br>But death's unwelcome, honest odds<br>Kick o'er the unequal scales.<br>The flattered great may clamours raise<br>Of power, and their own weakness hide,<br>But death shall find unlooked-for ways<br>To end the farce of pride,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">An arrow hurtled eer so high,<br>From een a giant's sinewy strength,<br>In Time's untraced eternity<br>Goes but a pigmy length;<br>Nay, whirring from the tortured string,<br>With all its pomp of hurried flight,<br>Tis by the skylark's little wing<br>Outmeasured in its height.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Just so man's boasted strength and power<br>Shall fade before death's lightest stroke,<br>Laid lower than the meanest flower,<br>Whose pride oer-topt the oak;<br>And he who, like a blighting blast,<br>Dispeopled worlds with war's alarms<br>Shall be himself destroyed at last<br>By poor despised worms.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tyrants in vain their powers secure,<br>And awe slaves' murmurs with a frown,<br>For unawed death at last is sure<br>To sap the babels down.<br>A stone thrown upward to the sky<br>Will quickly meet the ground agen;<br>So men-gods of earth's vanity<br>Shall drop at last to men;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Power and Pomp their all resign,<br>Blood-purchased thrones and banquet halls.<br>Fate waits to sack Ambition's shrine<br>As bare as prison walls,<br>Where the poor suffering wretch bows down<br>To laws a lawless power hath passed;<br>And pride, and power, and king, and clown<br>Shall be Death's slaves at last.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Time, the prime minister of Death!<br>There's nought can bribe his honest will.<br>He stops the richest tyrant's breath<br>And lays his mischief still.<br>Each wicked scheme for power all stops,<br>With grandeurs false and mock display,<br>As eve's shades from high mountain tops<br>Fade with the rest away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Death levels all things in his march;<br>Nought can resist his mighty strength;<br>The palace proud, triumphal arch,<br>Shall mete its shadow's length.<br>The rich, the poor, one common bed<br>Shall find in the unhonoured grave,<br>Where weeds shall crown alike the head<br>Of tyrant and of slave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Clare">John Clare</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419415" data-title="Death de John Clare" data-description="Why should man's high aspiring mind
Burn in him with so proud a breath,
When all his haughty views can find
In this world yields to death?
The fair, the brave, the vain, the wise,
The rich, the poor, the great, and small,
Are each but worm's anato..."></div>
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