Human Happiness

In wishing nothing we enjoy still most;
For ever our wish is in possession lost:
Restless we wander to a new desire,
And burn ourselves by blowing of the fire:
We toss and turn about our feverish will,
When all our ease must come by lying still:
For all the happiness mankind can gain
Is not in pleasure, but in rest from pain.
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.