Why are you standing here all alone in front of the Gates and moaning to yourself over your misfortune?
Why are you standing here, alone, in front of the gates?
When the wars are done.
The poet speaks of evil persuasiveness
And the waste and misery that follow great conflicts
and pleads for tranquil times.
Two loves I have, of comfort and despair,
Which like two spirits do suggest me still.
The better angel is a man right fair,
The worser spirit a woman coloured ill.
How many make the hour full complete;
How many hours bring about the day;
How many days will finish up the year;
How many years a mortal man may live.
When this is known, then to divide the times:
So many hours must I contemplate;
So many hours must I sport myself;
So many days my ewes have been with young;
So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean:
So many years ere I shall shear the fleece:
So minutes, hours, days, months, and years,
Pass'd over to the end they were created,
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely!
- If Wishes Were Catholics
- The Right Of Action
- They All Do It The Same
- I Hate You
- Forced Vision
- The Locus Priory
- To Kill A King