For the crown of our life as it closes Is darkness, the fruit there of dust; No thorns go as deep as the rose's, And love is more cruel than lust. Ti… - Algernon Charles Swinburne

For the crown of our life as it closes Is darkness, the fruit thereof dust; No thorns go as deep as a rose's, And love is more cruel than lust.

I am that which unloves me and loves; I am stricken, and I am the blow.

We are not sure of sorrow,
And joy was never sure;
To-day will die to-morrow;
Time stoops to no man's lure;
And love, grown faint and fretful,
With lips but half regretful
Sighs, and with eyes forgetful
Weeps that no loves endure.

From too much love of living,
From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be
That no life lives for ever;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea.

For no man under the sky lives twice