Howe'er, 'tis well that, while mankind <br />Through fate's perverse meander errs, <br />He can imagined pleasures find <br />To combat against real cares. <br /> <br />Fancies and notions he pursues, <br />Which ne'er had being but in thought; <br />Each, like the Grecian artist, wooes, <br />The image he himself has wrought. <br /> <br />Against experience he believes; <br />He argues against demonstration: <br />Pleased when his reason he deceives, <br />And sets his judgement by his passion. <br /> <br />The hoary fool, who many days <br />Has struggled with continued sorrow, <br />Renew's his hope, and blindly lays <br />The desperate bet upon to-morrow. <br /> <br />To-morrow comes: 'tis noon, 'tis night: <br />This day like all the former flies; <br />Yet on he runs to seek delight <br />To-morrow, till to-night he dies. <br /> <br />Our hopes like towering falcons aim <br />At objects in an airy height: <br />The little pleasure of the game <br />Is from afar to view the flight. <br /> <br />Our anxious pains we all the day <br />In search of what we like employ; <br />Scorning at night the worthless prey, <br />We find the labour gave the joy. <br /> <br />At distance through an artful glass <br />To the mind's eye things well appear; <br />They lose their forms, and make a mass <br />Confused and black, if brought too near. <br /> <br />If we see right we see our woes: <br />Then what avails it to have eyes? <br />From ignorance our comfort flows: <br />The only wretched are the wise. <br /> <br />We weary'd should lie down in death: <br />This cheat of life would take no more <br />If you thought fame but empty breath, <br />I Phillis but a perjured whore.<br /><br />Matthew Prior<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-the-honourable-charles-montague-esq/
