Or to mingle the sea and sky in strife;
Gently to whisper, with morning light,
Yet to growl, like a fetter’d fiend, ere night;
Or to love, and cherish, and bless, to-day
What to-morrow it ruthlessly rends away.
But stranger than all, that man should die
When his plans are formed and his hopes are high.
He walks forth a lord of the earth to-day,
And the morrow beholds him part of its clay.
He is born in sorrow, and cradled in pain,