Scarce visible in joy’s meridian height;
But, downwards as its blaze declining speeds,
The dwarfish shadow to a giant spreads.
Milton.
Pleasures are few, and fewer we enjoy;
Pleasure, like quicksilver, is bright and coy;
We strive to grasp it, with our utmost skill,
Still it eludes us, and it glitters still:
If seized at last, compute your mighty gains;
What is it but rank poison in your veins?