What hath become of Solomon?
Where are his wit and high estate?
With what is Samson clad upon
Whose bodily prowess was so great?

Absolon also is all pale.
Ah! where be now his golden hairs?
And Jonathan, did he not fail
Though much beloved, and all awares?

Where is great Caesar at this day,
Who conquered many a folk and state?
Where have the rich all gone away
Who drank so costlily and ate?

Hath Cicero not disappeared?
Who recked what he did or did not tell[.]
Where can he be, whilom revered,
Old Greece's flower, Aristotle?

So many an unvanquished lord!
Such time agone and long years spent!
So many heads gone—whitherward?
And so much royal ornament!

So many princes and their bliss!
Such power and mightiness and strength!
All in a moment come to this:
Rolled over, cold, and stretched at length.

The deeds and valour of this earth
Are just a fleeting holiday;
Its fame—the swiftest shadow's worth
Is scarce a symbol, in a way.

Its pleasures only give to lose
The good reward of constant rest,
Its purpose but that men should choose
The fields of error to be blest.

O miserable food of worms,
O dust and muck of ancient time,
Why dost thou sparkle in such terms?
Dew seem, o vanity's rank slime?

Well mayest thou doubt if life indeed
Will even last until tomorrow.
Give whilst thou hast the gift to feed
A hunger or to staunch a sorrow.

This flesh, which runneth so to grip,
‘Give me reward and fame,’ which saith,
The same is called, in holy Scrip,
A floweret that withereth.

Like as the light leaves float and skate,
If wind but blow with small increase,
What we call life in this estate
Must soon succumb and shortly cease.

Say not that doth belong to thee
Which soon can only be but lost.
Things the world holdeth jealously,
Can it reclaim, the boundary crossed?

Yearn then beyond and, heart upraised,
Heavenward be thy longing hurled;
Blessed, and greatly to be praised,
Who lightly can despise the world.