Poems — Vanitas

The glory of Life is fleeting;

Its splendour passeth away, With tints and odours meeting The flowers we twined to-day.

How brightly, in varied light, They reflected the morning sun;

But the chilling dews of the night Withered them one by one.

So the stream of Existence floweth O'er the golden sands of youth, In the light of a joy that gloweth From the depths of its love and truth.

But heavy, and cold, and fast, The gathering clouds uprise, Eclipsing the light, which cast On the waters a thousand dyes.

And onward, in sullen endeavour, Like a stream in a sunless cave, It floweth in darkness ever: Yet--could we thus reach the grave!

But we wake to a sorrow deeper-- The knowledge of all we have lost;

And the light grows fainter and weaker As we're borne from youth's sunny coast.

Yet onward with drifting motion, Still farther from life and light;

Around us a desert Ocean-- Above us eternal Night.

FATALITY.

FROM THE GERMAN.