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. Psalm I
3. The Vow-Breaker
4. Sonnet. I Prethee Turn That Face Away
5. To His Unconstant Friend

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

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