On my death bed, when my legs and limbs are weak
When my throat is too narrow to swallow bolus of meal
When I struggle to catch breath in my mouth, and the sound of my shallow heart beat fills the room
On that bed that looks like my passage to the grave and draws me closer to my ancestors
...
Hence vain deluding joyes,
The brood of folly without father bred,
How little you bested,
Or fill the fixèd mind with all your toyes;
Dwell in som idle brain,
And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess,
As thick and numberless
As the gay motes that people the Sun Beams,
... Read complete poem
