On Death
Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream.
And scenes or bliss pass as a phantom by?
The transient pleastires as a vision seem
And yet we think the greatest pain's to die.
How strange it is that man on earth should roam
And lead a life of woe, but not forsake
His rugged path; nore dare he view alone
His future doom which is but to awake.
-John Keats (1814)
And scenes or bliss pass as a phantom by?
The transient pleastires as a vision seem
And yet we think the greatest pain's to die.
How strange it is that man on earth should roam
And lead a life of woe, but not forsake
His rugged path; nore dare he view alone
His future doom which is but to awake.
-John Keats (1814)
posted by 逍遥老头 at 1:49 PM
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