All Is Vanity, Saieth the Preacher
I.
Fame,
wisdom,
love,
and
power
were
mine,
And
health
and
youth
possess'd
me;
My
goblets
blush'd
from
every
vine,
And
lovely
forms
caress'd
me;
I
sunn'd
my
heart
in
beauty's
eyes,
And
felt
my
soul
grow
tender:
All
earth
can
give,
or
mortal
prize,
Was
mine
of
regal
splendour.
II.
I
strive
to
number
o'er
what
days
Remembrance
can
discover,
Which
all
that
life
or
earth
displays
Would
lure
me
to
live
over.
There
rose
no
day,
there
roll'd
no
hour
Of
pleasure
unembitter'd;
And
not
a
trapping
deck'd
my
power
That
gall'd
not
while
it
glitter'd.
III.
The
serpent
of
the
field,
by
art
And
spells,
is
won
from
harming;
But
that
which
coils
around
the
heart,
Oh!
who
hath
pwer
of
charming?
It
will
not
list
to
wisdom's
lore,
Nor
music's
voice
can
lure
it;
But
there
it
stings
for
evermore
The
soul
that
must
endure
it.
