When is life other than a tragedy, <br />Whether it is played in tears from the first scene, <br />In sable robes and grief's mute pageantry, <br />For loves that died ere they had ever been, <br />Or whether on the edge of joys set keen, <br />While all the stage with laughter is agog, <br />Death stepping forward with an altered mien <br />Pulls off his mask, and speaks the epilogue? <br />Life is a play acted by dying men, <br />Where, if its heroes seem to foot it well <br />And go light--tongued without grimace of pain, <br />Death will be found anon. And who shall tell <br />Which part was saddest, or in youth or age, <br />When the tired actor stops and leaves the stage?<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/esther-a-sonnet-sequence-i/
