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Contemplative, Sir Walter Raleigh, in English Clear filters

ContemplativeSir Walter Raleigh

Life

What is our life? A play of passion, Our mirth the music of division, Our mother's wombs the tiring-houses be, Where we are dressed for this short comedy. Heaven the judicious sharp spectator is, That sits and marks still who doth act amiss. Our graves that hide us from the setting sun Are like drawn curtains when the play is done. Thus march we, playing, to our latest rest, Only we die in earnest, that's no jest.
ContemplativeSir Walter Raleigh

Song of Myself

I was a Poet! But I did not know it, Neither did my Mother, Nor my Sister nor my Brother. The Rich were not aware of it; The Poor took no care of it. The Reverend Mr. Drewitt Never knew it. The High did not suspect it; The Low could not detect it. Aunt Sue Said it was obviously untrue. Uncle Ned Said I was off my head: (This from a Colonial Was really a good testimonial.)

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