Classic Poem

For love of God, let's put aside the veil,
Good Gentlemen, that blurs and blinds our sight,
And upon Death the conqueror look aright,
Who levels high and low beneath his flail.
And unto God in heaven let our sighs
Go up in prayer, each heart a penitent,
For the offenses everyone has spent,
The old, the child, the youth, against the skies.
Surely no life at all we live, who here
But measure the assured approach of death —
The cruel, treacherous master of our breath
And when we think to live, — ah, he is near
We are well certain of our hour of birth,
But when we die, ah, certain we are not;
No certitude of life an hour we've got;
With tears we come, with tears we leave the earth.

And what became of all the emperors,
The popes and kings, and all the prelate lords,
The dukes and counts whom history records,
Their rich and strong and learned servitors?
And all who in the lists of love would wage
In gallant arms throughout the spreading world, —
And all in art's and science's scroll enfurled,
Where doctors, poets, troubadours, engage?

Father and son and brother, parents fond
And friends and sweethearts of our very breast,
With whom we ate and drank and took our rest,
The gay and gallant throng in friendships bond, —
Ladies and damsels and brave striplings fair
Who lay their youthfulness beneath the ground;
And other gentles that short shift have found,
Who once were present here and now are where?

The Duke of Cabra and the Admiral,
And many another Grandee of Castile;
Now Ruy Diaz's sleeve to pluck doth steal
Old Death, — who 'mong his compeers outshone all,
So that the people of the farthest East
Dreamt of his prowess and the glory's shine
He lent this court with all his gracious, fine
Performance graciously and bold increased.

And all we mention now are briefly grown
But dust and ashes, fallen to nothingness;
Others are bones that are of flesh the less
And, refuse of the trenches, there are thrown
And others are disjointed limbs, their head
Without a body, without hands or feet;
Others whereon the worms begin to eat;
Others new set for burial with the dead.

Where now the lordships, prelacies, and powers,
The tributes and the rents signorial?
Where now their pomps and courtliness withal,
Where their campaignings and their council hours?
Where all their sciences and learned lore —
Where are their masters of the poet's art
Where the great rhymers, where the singer's heart,
Where he that struck the lute-strings o'er and o'er?

Where are the treasures, vassals, servitors,
Where are their hangings and their precious stones,
Where are their pearls baroque in costly thrones,
Where are their perfume arks and scented store?
Where are their woofs of gold and shining chains,
Where are their collars and their buckles now,
Where the great gems that glittered row on row,
Where the light bells that tinkled on their reins?

Where are the feasts and suppers gay bespread,
Where the bright joust and tourney afternoons,
Where are their fashions and new-fangled boons,
Where the new steps with which their dancers tread?
Where the assemblies and the banquet boards,
Where all the shows and splendor of their ways,
Where all the laughter and the pleasant plays,
Where all the minstrel's and the joglar's words;
In faith meseems without a shade of doubt,
The days are now accomplished as foretold
Isaias, prophet son of Amos old,
Who said: " All order shall be blotted out;
Corruption shall be over every worth,
And death o'er all of humankind shall creep,
And every gate shall hear the voices weep,
And all the people be destroyed from earth! "

Such is the end and tribulation seen
By Jeremias prophet of man's woes,
Whose eyes a flood of weepings did disclose
Whose loud lamentings did his grief demean
Mourning his sins and errors of his days,
And this is written, anyone may read,
Within his chapters and clear and full indeed;
These surely are the times of which he says.

Wherefore good sense advises we should arm
Our souls with all the virtues that they lack
And take earth's empty treasures from our back
Since they are sure to go at first alarm.
And he who looks on this with kindly eyes,
Need not a fear unto his dying give;
Through death he passes, ceasing but to live,
To Life Eternal where he never dies!