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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part III: Gods And False Gods: LXXVIII
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COLD COMFORT
 There is no comfort underneath the sun.
 Youth turns to age; riches are quickly spent;
 Pride breeds us pain, our pleasures punishment.
 The very courage which we count upon
 A single night of fever shall break down,
 And love is slain by fear. Death last of all
 Spreads out his nets and watches for our fall.
 There is no comfort underneath the sun!
 --When thou art old, O man, if thou wert proud
 Be humble; pride will here avail thee not.
 There is no courage which can conquer death.
 Forget that thou wert wise. Nay, keep thy breath
 For prayer, that so thy wisdom be forgot
 And thou perhaps get pity of thy God.
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