Life is bitter. All the faces of the years, <br />Young and old, are gray with travail and with tears. <br />Must we only wake to toil, to tire, to weep? <br />In the sun, among the leaves, upon the flowers, <br />Slumber stills to dreamy death the heavy hours … <br />Let me sleep. <br /> <br />Riches won but mock the old, unable years; <br />Fame’s a pearl that hides beneath a sea of tears; <br />Love must wither, or must live alone and weep. <br />In the sunshine, through the leaves, across the flowers, <br />While we slumber, death approaches through the hours … <br />Let me sleep.<br /><br />William Ernest Henley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/life-is-bitter/
