Each, in himself, his hour to be and cease Endures alone, but who of men shall dare, Sole with himself, his single burden bear, All the long day until the night's release? Yet ere night falls, and the last shadows close, This labour of himself is each man's lot; All he has gained of earth shall be forgot, Himself he leaves behind him when he goes. If he has any valiancy within, If he has made his life his very own, If he has loved or laboured, and has known A strenuous virtue, or a strenuous sin; Then, being dead, his life was not all vain, For he has saved what most desire to lose, And he has chosen what the few must choose, Since life, once lived, shall not return again. For of our time we lose so large a part In serious trifles, and so oft let slip The wine of every moment, at the lip Its moment, and the moment of the heart. We are awake so little on the earth, And we shall sleep so long, and rise so late, If there is any knocking at that gate Which is the gate of death, the gate of birth. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CALLING DREAMS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DOMESDAY BOOK: WIDOW FORTELKA by EDGAR LEE MASTERS COLLOQUE SENTIMENTAL by PAUL VERLAINE EARLY MORN by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES RAIN ON A GRAVE by THOMAS HARDY |