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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=530098" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Night-piece on Death</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">By the blue taper's trembling light,<br>No more I waste the wakeful night,<br>Intent with endless view to pore<br>The schoolmen and the sages o'er:<br>Their books from wisdom widely stray,<br>Or point at best the longest way.<br>I'll seek a readier path, and go<br>Where wisdom's surely taught below.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How deep yon azure dyes the sky!<br>Where orbs of gold unnumber'd lie,<br>While through their ranks in silver pride<br>The nether crescent seems to glide!<br>The slumb'ring breeze forgets to breathe,<br>The lake is smooth and clear beneath,<br>Where once again the spangled show<br>Descends to meet our eyes below.<br>The grounds which on the right aspire,<br>In dimness from the view retire:<br>The left presents a place of graves,<br>Whose wall the silent water laves.<br>That steeple guides thy doubtful sight<br>Among the livid gleams of night.<br>There pass with melancholy state,<br>By all the solemn heaps of fate,<br>And think, as softly-sad you tread<br>Above the venerable dead,<br>&quot;Time was, like thee they life possest,<br>And time shall be, that thou shalt rest.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Those graves, with bending osier bound,<br>That nameless heave the crumpled ground,<br>Quick to the glancing thought disclose,<br>Where toil and poverty repose.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The flat smooth stones that bear a name,<br>The chisel's slender help to fame,<br>(Which ere our set of friends decay<br>Their frequent steps may wear away,)<br>A middle race of mortals own,<br>Men, half ambitious, all unknown.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The marble tombs that rise on high,<br>Whose dead in vaulted arches lie,<br>Whose pillars swell with sculptur'd stones,<br>Arms, angels, epitaphs, and bones,<br>These (all the poor remains of state)<br>Adorn the rich, or praise the great;<br>Who, while on earth in fame they live,<br>Are senseless of the fame they give.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ha! while I gaze, pale Cynthia fades,<br>The bursting earth unveils the shades!<br>All slow, and wan, and wrapp'd with shrouds<br>They rise in visionary crowds,<br>And all with sober accent cry,<br>&quot;Think, mortal, what it is to die.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now from yon black and fun'ral yew,<br>That bathes the charnel-house with dew,<br>Methinks I hear a voice begin;<br>(Ye ravens, cease your croaking din;<br>Ye tolling clocks, no time resound<br>O'er the long lake and midnight ground)<br>It sends a peal of hollow groans,<br>Thus speaking from among the bones.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;When men my scythe and darts supply,<br>How great a king of fears am I!<br>They view me like the last of things:<br>They make, and then they dread, my stings.<br>Fools! if you less provok'd your fears,<br>No more my spectre form appears.<br>Death's but a path that must be trod,<br>If man would ever pass to God;<br>A port of calms, a state of ease<br>From the rough rage of swelling seas.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Why then thy flowing sable stoles,<br>Deep pendant cypress, mourning poles,<br>Loose scarfs to fall athwart thy weeds,<br>Long palls, drawn hearses, cover'd steeds,<br>And plumes of black, that, as they tread,<br>Nod o'er the scutcheons of the dead?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Nor can the parted body know,<br>Nor wants the soul, these forms of woe.<br>As men who long in prison dwell,<br>With lamps that glimmer round the cell,<br>Whene'er their suff'ring years are run,<br>Spring forth to greet the glitt'ring sun:<br>Such joy though far transcending sense,<br>Have pious souls at parting hence.<br>On earth, and in the body plac'd,<br>A few, and evil years they waste;<br>But when their chains are cast aside,<br>See the glad scene unfolding wide,<br>Clap the glad wing, and tow'r away,<br>And mingle with the blaze of day.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Thomas+Parnell">Thomas Parnell</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=530098" data-title="A Night-piece on Death de Thomas Parnell" data-description="By the blue taper's trembling light,
No more I waste the wakeful night,
Intent with endless view to pore
The schoolmen and the sages o'er:
Their books from wisdom widely stray,
Or point at best the longest way.
I'll seek a readier path, and go
Whe..."></div>
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