I. <br />Fame, wisdom, love, and power were mine, <br />And health and youth possess'd me; <br />My goblets blush'd from every vine, <br />And lovely forms caress'd me; <br />I sunn'd my heart in beauty's eyes, <br />And felt my soul grow tender: <br />All earth can give, or mortal prize, <br />Was mine of regal splendour. <br /> <br />II. <br />I strive to number o'er what days <br />Remembrance can discover, <br />Which all that life or earth displays <br />Would lure me to live over. <br />There rose no day, there roll'd no hour <br />Of pleasure unembitter'd; <br />And not a trapping deck'd my power <br />That gall'd not while it glitter'd. <br /> <br />III. <br />The serpent of the field, by art <br />And spells, is won from harming; <br />But that which coils around the heart, <br />Oh! who hath pwer of charming? <br />It will not list to wisdom's lore, <br />Nor music's voice can lure it; <br />But there it stings for evermore <br />The soul that must endure it.<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/all-is-vanity-saieth-the-preacher/
