All Is Vanity, Saieth The Preacher Poem by George Gordon Byron
All Is Vanity, Saieth The Preacher
I.
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.
II.
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.
III.
The serpent of the field, by art
And spells, is won from harming;
But that which coils around the heart,
Oh! who hath pwer 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.
Art! ! ! Like the muse of the serpent of the field. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
to wisdom; to the ultimate truth all of happening events- just vanity.! ! !
Indeed snake can be charmed when it's on the field; but it can't be charmed, if it has coiled round one's neck sure!
You My dear Byron, You said: (Fame, wisdom, love, and power were mine, And health and youth possess'd me ;) I say, all are still yours No one can dare to lance The elegant legs of a horse...! You are still here with your voice With your cheerful stanzas With your poetic glamourous shadows... You died as a martyr But without horse Leaving your lexicons To chant forever...!
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4/25/2024 9:13:07 PM # 1.0.0.1119
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. The serpent and the soul. tony