Vanity of vanities, the Preacher saith, <br />All things are vanity. The eye and ear <br />Cannot be filled with what they see and hear. <br />Like early dew, or like the sudden breath <br />Of wind, or like the grass that withereth, <br />Is man, tossed to and fro by hope and fear: <br />So little joy hath he, so little cheer, <br />Till all things end in the long dust of death. <br />To-day is still the same as yesterday, <br />To-morrow also even as one of them; <br />And there is nothing new under the sun: <br />Until the ancient race of Time be run, <br />The old thorns shall grow out of the old stem, <br />And morning shall be cold and twilight grey.<br /><br />Christina Georgina Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-one-certainty/
