Sonnet
Ah, woe is me for pleasure that is vain, Ah, woe is me for glory that is past: Pleasure that bringeth sorrow at the last,Glory that at the last bringeth no gain!So saith the sinking heart; and so again It shall say till the mighty angel-blast Is blown, making the sun and moon aghastAnd showering down the stars like sudden rain.And evermore men shall go fearfully Bending beneath their weight of heaviness;And ancient men shall lie down wearily, And strong men shall rise up in weariness;Yea, even the young shall answer sighingly Saying one to another: How vain it is!