This warldly joy is only fantasy,
Of quhich non erdly wicht can be content;
Quho most has wit, lest suld in it affy,
Quho taistis it most, most sall him repent;
Quhat valis all this richess and this rent,
Sen no man wat quho sall his tresour have?
Presume nocht gevin that god has don but lent,
Within schort tyme the quhiche he thinkis to crave.
Leaulte Vault Richesse
Anonymous Olde English
(1)
Poem topics: god, joy, fantasy, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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