COLD COMFORT <br />There is no comfort underneath the sun. <br />Youth turns to age; riches are quickly spent; <br />Pride breeds us pain, our pleasures punishment. <br />The very courage which we count upon <br />A single night of fever shall break down, <br />And love is slain by fear. Death last of all <br />Spreads out his nets and watches for our fall. <br />There is no comfort underneath the sun! <br />--When thou art old, O man, if thou wert proud <br />Be humble; pride will here avail thee not. <br />There is no courage which can conquer death. <br />Forget that thou wert wise. Nay, keep thy breath <br />For prayer, that so thy wisdom be forgot <br />And thou perhaps get pity of thy God.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-love-sonnets-of-proteus-part-iii-gods-and-false-gods-lxxviii/
