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ALL IS VANITY,  SAITH THE PREACHER

By
Lord Byron


&/\&/\&

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.
 

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.
 

The serpent of the field, by art

And spells,  is won from harming;

But that which coils around the heart,

Oh   who hath power 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.
 

&/\&/\&


 
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