 | Stones from The Quarry |  |
THE IRONY OF LIFE.
The light of long-set suns is in thine eyes.Hope, like a spendthrift, his inheritance
Hath mortgaged, spent his substance in advance:
Grim Death, by his apparitors, applies
Now for his bond, with o'er-due usuries,
And shrewdly will foreclose, with the first chance.
With doting Memory thou dost romance,
And thy old stocks and stones dost canonise
In niches of the Past! Thy treble-voice,
“Excelsior” once shouting, scarce would blow
A penny-trumpet: thou, whom Fame did noise
Abroad, the mock of passing fools shalt grow.
Eat dirt, O Pride; 'tis diet with large choice!
Or for Gorilla sit, and Man forego!
| Stones from The Quarry | |