Tuesday, 20 January 2009
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On Death
Can death be sleep when life is but a dream
And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by
The transient pleasures of a vision seem,
And yet we think the greatest pain's to die.
How strange it is that man on earth should roam
And lead a life of woe, but not forsake
His rugged path, nor dare he view alone
His future doom, which is but to awake.
-John Keats
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