How shall I tell my fall? The life of man <br />Is but a tale of tumbles, this way thrown <br />At his beginning by mere haste of plan <br />In the first gaping ditch with flowers o'ergrown; <br />Anon more cautious for his wounded knees, <br />Yet falling still through much expectancy; <br />And so to age, the goal of his heart's ease, <br />Stumbling in blindness on he knows not why. <br />How shall I tell it? As the poets tell <br />Who wrap love in a garment of vain light? <br />Or plainly naked, the poor child of Hell <br />And laughter that it is and starless night? <br />I like the truth best. Yet this love, sad thing, <br />Mired and defiled, I saw it once a king.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/esther-a-sonnet-sequence-xliii/
