WHETHER men do laugh or weep, Whether they do wake or sleep, Whether they die young or old, Whether they feel heat or cold; There is, underneath the sun, Nothing in true earnest done. All our pride is but a jest; None are worst, and none are best; Grief and joy, and hope and fear, Play their pageants everywhere: Vain opinion all doth sway, And the world is but a play. Powers above in clouds do sit, Mocking our poor apish wit; That so lamely, with such state, Their high glory imitate: No ill can be felt but pain, And that happy men disdain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DESPAIR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON FINIS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON GOAL by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MATER AMABILIS by EMMA LAZARUS CHRISTMAS AT INDIAN POINT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ALONZO CHURCHILL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |