Vanity of vanities, the Preacher saith, All things are vanity. The eye and ear Cannot be filled with what they see and hear. Like early dew, or like the sudden breath Of wind, or like the grass that withereth, Is man, tossed to and fro by hope and fear; So little joy hath he, so little cheer, Till all things end in this long dust of death. To-day is still the same as yesterday, To-morrow also even as one of them; And there is nothing new under the sun: Until the ancient race of Time be run, The old thorns shall grow out of the old stem, And morning shall be cold and twilight grey. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE VALLEY'S SINGING DAY by ROBERT FROST IT IS ENOUGH by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS A DISAPPOINTMENT by JOANNA BAILLIE WOODEN WHEELS by LOWELL C. BALLARD A MISUNDERSTANDING (CONNEMARA) by JANE BARLOW WEDNESDAY IN Y' HOLY WEEK by JOSEPH BEAUMONT QUATORZAINS: 11. A CLOCK STRIKING AT MIDNIGHT by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES AN IRISH FANTASY by JOHN FRANKLIN BLUNT FORT GRISWOLD, SEPT. 6, 1781 by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |