With toilsome steps I pass thro' life's dull road <br />(No pack-horse half so tired of his load); <br />And when this dirty journey will conclude, <br />To what new realms is then my way pursued? <br />Say, then does the unbodied spirit fly <br />To happier climes and to a better sky? <br />Or, sinking, mixes with its kindred clay, <br />And sleeps a whole eternity away? <br />Or shall this form be once again renew'd, <br />With all its frailties, all its hopes, endu'd; <br />Acting once more on this detested stage <br />Passions of youth, infirmities of age? <br />I see in Tully what the ancients thought, <br />And read unprejudic'd what moderns taught; <br />But no conviction from my reading springs -- <br />Most dubious on the most important things. <br />Yet one short moment would at once explain <br />What all philosophy has sought in vain; <br />Would clear all doubt, and terminate all pain. <br />Why then not hasten that decisive hour; <br />Still in my view, and ever in my pow'r? <br />Why should I drag along this life I hate, <br />Without one thought to mitigate the weight? <br />Whence this mysterious bearing to exist, <br />When ev'ry joy is lost, and ev'ry hope dismiss'd? <br />In chains and darkness wherefore should I stay, <br />And mourn in prison whilst I keep the key?<br /><br />Lady Mary Wortley Montagu<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/addressed-to-1736/
