THE MOCKERY OF LIFE
God! What a mockery is this life of ours!
Cast forth in blood and pain from our mother's womb,
Most like an excrement, and weeping showers
Of senseless tears: unreasoning, naked, dumb,
The symbol of all weakness and the sum:
Our very life a sufferance.--Presently,
Grown stronger, we must fight for standing--room
Upon the earth, and the bare liberty
To breathe and move. We crave the right to toil.
We push, we strive, we jostle with the rest.
We learn new courage, stifle our old fears,
Stand with stiff backs, take part in every broil.
It may be that we love, that we are blest.
It may be, for a little space of years,
We conquer fate and half forget our tears.
More verses by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
- The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. November
- The Days Of Our Youth
- The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. March
- The Grief Of Love
- The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part Ii: To Juliet: Xxix