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. Upon a Braid of Hair in a Heart sent by Mrs. E. H.
2. On the Earl of Essex
3. Psalm I
4. The Forfeiture
5. Sonnet. Dry those fair, those chrystal eyes

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

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