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| III. |
 | Harvest-Home (1805) |  |
168
EXTEMPORE.
TO A LADY IN FEEBLE HEALTH.
Why do the Fates so oft decree,
To frames of steel, and lungs of leather,
To shallow brains from thinking free,
And tongues that prate for years together,
To frames of steel, and lungs of leather,
To shallow brains from thinking free,
And tongues that prate for years together,
A privilege all day to laugh;
Without a care through life to roll;
All night the cup of Joy to quaff,
Till empty as the Drinker's soul?
Without a care through life to roll;
All night the cup of Joy to quaff,
Till empty as the Drinker's soul?
While, miser-like, those Fates dispense
The trembling nerve and slender form
To such as You—to Wit and Sense,
And leave a Reed to brave the Storm!
The trembling nerve and slender form
To such as You—to Wit and Sense,
And leave a Reed to brave the Storm!
'Tis strange, and yet there's reason in it;
For Sense or Wit more blest appears,
And lives more life in one short minute
Than Dullness in a hundred years.
For Sense or Wit more blest appears,
And lives more life in one short minute
Than Dullness in a hundred years.
| Harvest-Home (1805) | |