Life is compared to the brief fall of a dewdrop, the Indian’s unconscious sleep while his boat hastens to destruction; but life also is Hope, Intellect, Beauty, and Physical Enjoyment.
When I consider life, ’tis all a cheat;
Yet, fooled with hope, men favour the deceit
Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay—
To-morrow’s falser than the former day;
Lies worse and, while it says we shall be blessed
With some new joys, cuts off what we possesst.
Strange cozenage! none would live past years again,
Yet all hope pleasure in what yet remain;