Sonnet
Ye hasten to the grave! What seek ye there,Ye restless thoughts and busy purposesOf the idle brain, which the world's livery wear?O thou quick heart, which pantest to possessAll that pale Expectation feigneth fair!Thou vainly curious mind which wouldest guessWhence thou didst come, and whither thou must go,And all that never yet was known would know--Oh, whither hasten ye, that thus ye press,With such swift feet life's green and pleasant path,Seeking, alike from happiness and woe,A refuge in the cavern of gray death?O heart, and mind, and thoughts! what thing do youHope to inherit in the grave below?
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