We are not sure of sorrow, <br />And joy was never sure; <br />To-day will die tomorrow; <br />Time stoops to no man’s lure; <br />And love grown faint and fretful, <br />With lips but half regretful <br />Sighs, and with eyes forgetful <br />Weeps that no loves endure. <br /> <br />From too much love of living, <br />From hope and fear set free, <br />We thank with brief thanksgiving <br />Whatever gods may be <br />That no life lives for ever, <br />That dead men rise up never; <br />That even the weariest river <br />Winds somewhere safe to sea.<br /><br />Algernon Charles Swinburne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/swan-song-11/
