The brief sum of life forbids us the hope of enduring long.
Horace
They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.
They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.
Ernest Dowson
Showing posts with label Horace. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Horace. Show all posts
The brief sum of life...
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Labels: Ernest Dowson, Horace, Life, Poetry
