How well the brittle boat doth personate Man's frail estate! whose concave, fill'd with lightsome air, did scorn The prodest storm. Man's fleshy boat bears up; whilst breath doth last, He fears no blast. Poor floating bark, whilst on yon mount you stood, Rain was your food: Now the same moisture, which once made thee grow, Doth thee o'erflow. Rash youth hath too much sail; his giddy path No ballast hath; He thinks his keel of wit can cut all waves, And pass those graves; Can shoot all cataracts, and safely steer The fourscorth year. But stoop thine ear, ill-counsell'd youth, and hark, Look on this bark. His emblem, whom it carried, both defied Storms, yet soon died; Only this difference, that sunk downward, this Weigh'd up to bliss. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TRAVEL by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY REVELATION by ROBERT PENN WARREN MY PICTURE-GALLERY by WALT WHITMAN MEARY'S SMILE by WILLIAM BARNES TWILIGHT TIME by MILDRED SOUTHWORTH BRYAN A STRANGER MINSTREL; TO MRS. ROBINSON BEFORE HER DEATH by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE FIRST SONGS: 1 by HILDA CONKLING |