What doth it serve to see sun's burning face, <br /> And skies enamelled with both the Indies' gold? <br /> Or moon at night in jetty chariot roll'd, <br /> And all the glory of that starry place? <br /> What doth it serve earth's beauty to behold, <br /> The mountain's pride, the meadow's flow'ry grace, <br /> The stately comeliness of forests old, <br /> The sport of floods which would themselves embrace? <br /> What doth it serve to hear the sylvans' songs, <br /> The wanton merle, the nightingale's sad strains, <br /> Which in dark shades seem to deplore my wrongs? <br /> For what doth serve all that this world contains, <br /> Sith she for whom those once to me were dear, <br /> No part of them can have now with me here?<br /><br />William Drummond (of Hawthornden)<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/what-doth-it-serve/
