Sir Francis Bacon

(1561 - 1626 / England)

The Life Of Man - Poem by Sir Francis Bacon

The world's a bubble; and the life of man less than a span.
In his conception wretched; from the womb so to the tomb:
Curst from the cradle, and brought up to years, with cares and fears.
Who then to frail mortality shall trust,
But limns the water, or but writes in dust.
Yet, since with sorrow here we live oppress'd, what life is best?
Courts are but only superficial schools to dandle fools:
The rural parts are turn'd into a den of savage men:
And where's a city from all vice so free,
But may be term'd the worst of all the three?

Domestic cares afflict the husband's bed, or pains his head:
Those that live single, take it for a curse, or do things worse:
Some would have children; those that have them none; or wish them gone.
What is it then to have no wife, but single thralldom or a double strife?
Our own affections still at home to please, is a disease:
To cross the sea to any foreign soil, perils and toil:
Wars with their noise affright us: when they cease,
We are worse in peace:
What then remains, but that we still should cry,
Not to be born, or being born, to die.


Comments about The Life Of Man by Sir Francis Bacon

  • Rookie - 217 Points Valentin Savin (8/16/2015 4:56:00 AM)

    It has some truth, but not all. It it were so we should fall. (Report) Reply

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  • Rookie Irving Montero (12/28/2004 7:12:00 PM)

    This is such a nice poem, it's a portrait of anyone's life! I love it! ! ! (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: husband, trust, city, sorrow, children, peace, water, home, sea, life, world, school, child, fear



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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