Poem by Henry King, Bishop of Chichester

Sic Vita

Like to the falling of a star,
Or as the flights of eagles are,
Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue,
Or silver drops of morning dew,
Or like a wind that chafes the flood,
Or bubbles which on water stood:
Even such is man, whose borrowed light
Is straight called in, and paid to night.
The wind blows out, the bubble dies;
The spring entombed in autumn lies;
The dew dries up, the star is shot;
The flight is past, and man forgot. 

1. To My Sister Anne King, Who Chid Me In Verse For Being Angry
2. Another Of The Same, Paraphrased For An Antheme
3. The Vow-Breaker
4. The Boyes Answer To The Blackmoor
5. The Acquittance

Henry Thoreau Sic Vita ("I am a parcel of vain strivings tied")

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