I always liked this poem. As gloom descends over the world in an increasingly heavy cloak, I thought of it this morning.
THEY ARE NOT LONG
by: Ernest Dowson
THEY are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.
They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for awhile, then closes
Within a dream.
1 comment:
It's not ironic. It's an insightful note on the human mind. I think.
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