Classic and Contemporary Poetry
ECCLESIASTES CHAPTER XII, by VICTOR GUSTAVE PLARR Poet's Biography First Line: He hath a few more days to live, and we Last Line: Of whom we know not, and who gave it birth. Subject(s): Death; Future Life; Heaven; Mourning; Dead, The; Retribution; Eternity; After Life; Paradise; Bereavement | ||||||||
He hath a few more days to live, and we Go to the festal, dight with robes and flowers, And all is goodly in this world of ours, And 'All is Vanity,' saith he. He hath outlived the heaviest share of days: His gray locks flutter in the wind: his lips Tremble and moan as in his steps he slips, And all is Vanity always. For him the sun, and moon, and stars are dark: After the rain the clouds return for him. The keepers of his soul's house quake in limb, The strong men bow themselves adown, and hark! The grinders cease through being few, and those That from the windows of the spirit gaze Are darkened, and below them, in the ways, What time the grinding fails the portals close. And this old man at cock-crow riseth up To live a little o'er the long ago. For him sweet Musick's daughters are brought low: He careth not at all for dance or cup, But feareth that which loometh out on high, For in his faltering way is many a fear; The shrilling grasshopper he scarce can bear, And all his old desires grow near to die, Because to-day man seeketh his long home, And mourners go about the vacant streets: Oh, little day of life; oh, bitter sweets! Whence have I come and what shall I become? Or ever the silver cord be loosen'd, or The golden bowl be broken on the wall, Or the full pitcher at the fountain fall, Or ever the cistern-wheel can turn no more, Then shall the dust return unto the earth Even whence it cameit trod, and shall be trod, And the thin spirit shall go back to God Of Whom we know not, and who gave it birth. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HUNGERFIELD by ROBINSON JEFFERS THE MOURNER by LOUISE MOREY BOWMAN HECUBA MOURNS by MARILYN NELSON THERE IS NO GOD BUT by AGHA SHAHID ALI IF I COULD MOURN LIKE A MOURNING DOVE by FRANK BIDART EPITAPHIUM CITHARISTRIAE by VICTOR GUSTAVE PLARR |
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