 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
323
LIFE'S UNCERTAINTY.
Man draws his fleeting breath in utmost dread,
Not knowing from what ambush ill may start
To plunge another dagger in his heart.
He scarcely knows his living from his dead;
The skies are dark with gloom above his head;
He hears night-birds upon their meek prey dart, —
O Night, of whom he is a very part,
How long is he his dubious path to tread?
Not knowing from what ambush ill may start
To plunge another dagger in his heart.
He scarcely knows his living from his dead;
The skies are dark with gloom above his head;
He hears night-birds upon their meek prey dart, —
O Night, of whom he is a very part,
How long is he his dubious path to tread?
Sometimes he hears, and this appals him most,
Ring through the night a chiming wedding-bell.
It is the signal summoning to its post
A new despair to lead his steps to hell, —
So 'twixt wild seas and some implacable coast
Men, sailing, know their doom inevitable.
Ring through the night a chiming wedding-bell.
It is the signal summoning to its post
A new despair to lead his steps to hell, —
So 'twixt wild seas and some implacable coast
Men, sailing, know their doom inevitable.
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |